LAST DAYS OF^^ 

KNlCKeRBOCReR 



N£W YORK 






















^»«^#/: 



u 



!^^.f% 




^^- 



t^l 



\ 




^ 




^ 



Z,^-~^) 



FROM J.B 01LP0BTRAIT1--T""" 



LAST DAYS 




m u 



fi 



IN 



NEW YORK. 



BY 



-/ 



ABRAM C. DAYTON. 




New York : 

GEORGE W. HARLAN, Publisher, 

19 Park Place. 



1883. 



Copyright, 1880, by 
CHARLES W. DAYTON. 



4-4- 



. ^O-rt 



INTRODUCTORY. 



A decade has -well nigh passed since the following 
■pages were penned, They will be perused now with 
added interest, for their author bade farewell to earth in 
August, 1877, and is sleepipg by his father's side in 
Greenwood. The last few years of his life were spent in 
retirement. His impaired health of body found relaxa- 
tion in intellectual employment, and many will remem- 
ber how inexhaustible was the fund of anecdote and 
pleasant humor, with which he was wont to entertain the 
household circle, concerning "New York forty years ago.*' 

It would seem as though these talks of other days 
awakened congenial memories, for when he died, there 
was discovered a neatly rolled manuscript — now unfold- 
ed to the public, letter for letter and line for line, just aS 
he wrote and left it. He was witness to the scenes de- 
scribed, and contemporary with the events detailed. 
Such of his "troops of friends" whose eyes may meet 
these pictures of the past, will recall the courtly manner, 
the amiable, sparkling flow of cultured conversation, the 
graceful modesty and unreserved honesty which charmed, 
attracted and won all who came within his environment- 
Of him may be said, in the words of the master limnsr 
of human characteristics: 

"A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, 
Framefl In the proaigality of nature; 



The spacious world cannot again aflord. 
2^ew York, Jane, 1880. 



C. W. D. 



PREFACE. 



If it be an admitted fact that "a man is knoTvn 
by the company he keeps," it cannot be a -wrong 
proposition, that a state of society can best be 
described and understood hj a "bird's-eye view" 
of habits, customs, occupations and amusements 
which ruled in every day Hfe at that particular 
epoch. In the endeavor to present these pecu- 
liarities, it matters little if occasional discrepan- 
cies, or even exaggerations should creep into de- 
tails, which are honestly intended to be truthful 
and, in the main, exact. Time, despite the most 
conscientious resolves, will light up pleasurable 
reminiscences of the past with an enlianced glow; 
it also will throw a denser shadow over recollec- 
tions of those dark spots met with even in the 
sunny stage of childhood. Due allowance should 
always be made for the irresistible influence of 
prejudice; once engendej-ed it never slumbers; it 
grows wuth our growth, strengthens with our 
strength, and as if it had become a dominant part 
of our being, rules supreme over man's warring 
powers, when age weakens reason. The impres- 
sions made by early associations are indelibly 
stamped — 

; " for lives there one 

Whose infant breath was drawn, or boyhood's days 

Of happiness were passed beneath that sun, 
That in his manhood's prime can calmly gaze 

Upon that bay, or on that mountain stand, 

Nor feel the prouder of his native land." 
5 



6 PREFACE, 

Tlie landmarks of the Knickerbocker era are one 
by one disappearing, and very soon all will be 
swept from the face of Manhattan Island ; and 
scarcely a vestige remaius to bring to mind the- 
staid customs and j)rimitive mode of life which 
ruled in New York only forty years ago. 

Forty years ago New York was by comparison 
a village; one cargo of the mammoth Great East- 
ern would have stocked its warehouses with lux- 
uries; the passengers of one train of cars from 
the far West would have overflowed its houses of 
entertainment; its limited places of amusement 
were kept alive, but t'he managers did not amass 
wealth; its quiet streets offered httle inducement 
for display, but at the same time they afforded 
limited scope for detective skill ; its aggregate 
municipal outlay would scarcely be considered an 
object by a modern politician. Home with its 
legitimate influences ruled supreme, and to the 
unintroduced traveler from the old world our ci- 
ty offered but few attractions. It was unhesitat- 
ingly pronounced dull by the EngUsh sporting 
gentleman, ''horrible'^ by the Parisian who had re- 
velled in the ever changing pleasures of the gay 
Capital. 

After New York emerged from the financial 
crash of 1837, occasioned primarily b}^ the disas- 
trous conflagration of 1835, but augmented by 
the exjolosion of a land speculation which would be 
unheeded now, it sprang as if by magic into met- 
ropolitan proportions. It became the moneyed 
centre of the continent; its banks were the depos- 
itories of the almost worthless tokens with which 



PRE FA CE. 7 

tlie country was flooded during the suspension of 
specie payments. This sudden accumulation of 
doubtful securities encouraged increased individ- 
ual exj^enditure ; rents advanced, luxuries were 
introduced by foreign capitalists, and the pro- 
ceeds invested in the rapidly appreciating lands 
lying adjacent to the city limits. The now crowoi- 
iug "mortgage,'' to which the prudent Ivnicker- 
bocker only had recourse in the last extremity, 
was not considered a disgraceful fixture on the 
family mansion, and pretentious dwellings were 
erected on the surroundings of Washington Pa- 
rade Ground. Albion, St. Marks, Lafayette, Wa- 
verly, Washington and other grand places were 
inaugurated through the instrumentality of 'hcild 
cat'' tenders, and grandfather's simple Knicker- 
bocker home was abandoned for more sumptuous 
residences in fashionable quarters. This new or- 
der of things necessitated new appliances of every 
sort, and the regimt of the past was banished 
as if by a wave of the "enchanters magic Avand." 
History scarcely presents the parallel of this sud- 
den, marked transition from Dutch Gotham, T\dth 
its noiseless, steady routine, to metropolitan New 
York, with its bustling, flighty excitement. 

Abram C. Dayton. 
New York, December, 1871. 



CHAPTER FIRST. 

•' Human portraits faithfully drawn, are of all pictures 
the welcomest on human walls." Carlyle. 

The New York of forty years ago was very un- 
like the New York of to-day. Its unprecedented 
change, or rather growth, was unheeded, and is 
yet not fully realized by very many of that lucky 
class, who, though native born, have floated along 
without noting passing events, contenting them- 
selves with the enjojanent of the rich fruits borne 
on their ancestral farms. Knickerbocker fi'ugali- 
ty was a blessing to such of the present genera- 
tion who can trace their genealogy on Manhattan 
Island for a century, while those whose titles date 
back only fifty years, jDOssess millions of substan- 
tial reasons to be thankful. They have not toiled, 
neither have they spun ; yet while they have 
slumbered in idle comfort, their inherited acres 
have changed to city lots, and city lots, no matter 
how situated, represent doUars and produce in- 
come. 

Forty years ago Prince Street was on the very 
verge of civilization. Niblo's Garden was a gar- 
den in very truth, a rural spot; and it was proba- 
bly leased at a rental which would now be refused 
for the humblest plot on the Island, though 
Niblo's was situated on the only thoroughfare, ex- 
cept the Bowery, which the city of Gotham could 

boast. Thousands of the occupants of brown 
9 • 



10 LAST DAYS OF 

Btone mausions which grace our leading avenues 
are, as is well known, not "^o the manor horn'' 
They came from the North, South, East and West 
when the spirit of sj)eculation settled upon the 
heretofore sleeping Dutch city. As a rule they 
brought little with them, save the spirit of enter- 
prise, an indomitable will, and a firm determina- 
tion to win both name and fortune.* The wiry, 
energetic sons of New Hampshire, Maine and 
Vermont were among the first to step to the front 
in the new El Dorado, and the footprints of their 
industrious toil are to-day plainly discernible on 
Manhattan Island. Previous to the advent of this 
adventurous horde, Gotham under its primitive 
rule was satisfied to leave " well enough alone," 
and it is through that Gotham the writer pur- 
poses to ramble with his readers, to narrate noth- 
ing but facts, to describe person, custom and lo- 
cality as they existed in his youth. This ramble 
will not prove dry or uninstructive as the details 
apj^ear on our tramp from the old Battery. The 
marvellous progress which a few short years have 
witnessed cannot fail to excite both wonder and 
interest as the marked changes are one by one 
noted. 

The vast majority of the citizens of New York 
now consider Sunday as a day set apart for pleas- 
ure and recreation, and in that respect our city is 
not very far behind the gayest caj^itals of the old 
world. It is true there still lingers in our midst 
a slight sprinkling of the old leaven of drici ob- 
servance, which essays to make itself seen, felt, un- 
derstood, and bravely tries to do battle for the 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 11 

" ancieuTegime " against the marlied and powerful 
encroachments of unchecked revelry. It is still 
decreed by Fashion that to attend church is re- 
spectable, but then the imperious dame desig- 
nates where and how her votaries shall figui'e in 
the sanctuary. Matins, however, are the mode, 
afternoon services in the churches as a rule are 
unattended, and the officiating clergymen could 
almost with impunity repeat their morning dis- 
courses, for empty pews are not supj^osed to be 
critical hearers. The popular theory, modern to 
us, that Sunday was intended as a day especially 
Bet apart for out door exercise for the toihng ar- 
tizan and his housed family, has been appropriated 
by the leaders of society, as is amply demon- 
strated by the fact that on no afternoon of the 
week is the Central Park or the Drive more 
crowded with equipages or more gorgeous in dis- 
play of toilets and appointments. Our theaters 
as yet have not opened their doors on Sunday 
night, still the initiative step has been taken in 
that direction. Concert halls and gardens are in 
full blast during the Summer months, w^here 
bands of pretentious excellence discourse choice 
selections of music, styled for appearances, sacred 
melodies, some of which, to the unprofessional 
hearer, sound amazingly as if stolen from the 
" Grand Duchesse, " or " // N'ozze" In this 
rapid age some sacred stanzas may have been 
composed for special adaptation to the popu- 
lar "Music LesHon," or "Le Sabre de Mori- Per e*' 
they must have been, or such a thoroughly edu- 
cated musician as Theodore Thomas would not 
have directed his unrivalled orchestra to intone 



12 LAST DAYS OF 

tnem on Sunday night lor the edification of hig 
em-apt audience. "What a contrast presents itself 
between the short roUicking Sunday of 1871 
with its music and dance ; its brilUantly lighted 
saloons filled with an eager crowd of j^leasure 
seekers ; its endless train of gay promenaders ; 
its open shops in the full tide of successful traffic, 
and the solemn, long Knickerbocker Sabbath, 
when the fourth commandment was in full force. 
The old time Knickerbocker Sabbath was in very 
truth a day esi3ecially set apart for worshij). The 
laws of society so decreed, and public ox^inion 
was a stern master then, so woe betide the man, 
woman or child who dared to disobey or disre- 
gard its stringent rules. From early dawn aU 
secular affairs were religiously abstained fi'om, 
the family meals were but cold collations of Sat- 
ui'day baked meats — ^it was decreed that man 
servant and maid servant should rest. No sound 
save tne tolling of the church-bell broke the 
awful stillness. At stated hours, three times 
during the da}', at ten o'clock, at three o'clock 
and at seven o'clock, stereotype ^processions of 
staid men and women, accompanied by subdued, 
silent children even of the most tender age slowly 
wended their way to church soberly and solemnly 
as if they were assisting at the funeral of a dear 
departed friend — a bare culd nod of recognition 
was all that was vouchsafed to the most intimate 
passing, acquaintance. The coy maiden looked 
as demure as her spectacled grandmother, who 
led her protectingly by the hand ; the youth clad 
in best Sunday roundabout, apj^eared as stoHd as 
the well fed museum anaconda, for the bo3' had 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 13 

been crammed that morning Avith catecliism, 
pater and mater familias bore upon theii' counte- 
uances the consciousness of their awful responsi- 
bility, while Betty, the help, arrayed in the 
brightest calico, cleanest pinafore and gayest 
bandanna turban trudged along in the rear of the 
family circle as an evidence that the family was do- 
ing its whole duty. When the bell ceased tolling 
and the service was about to commence, heavy 
ii'on chains were drawn tightly across the streets 
adjacent to the different places of worship, that no 
possible noise might distract the congregation in 
their serious meditations. This precaution seemed 
in a great measure to be superfluous, for the doc- 
tor's gig on its errand of mercy, or the carriage of 
some aged christian too infirm to walk were the 
only admitted departures, as beasts were also 
included in the Sunday code. Now and then a 
sly sinner or two would harness up for a drive 
on the road, and enjoy a httle sw^eet, unlaw- 
ful frolic ; but such were far too cunning to select 
the thoroughfare but would take some unfre- 
quented road, certain that if detected in their 
sinful departure, in addition to the inevitable 
severe reprimand for their ungodly practices, 
they would dui-ing an indefinite period be the 
Drominent subjects of intercession at evening- 
prayers. 



CflAPTUR SECOND. 

Bu^ to the service. It was no light affair with 
any denomination; at the Dutch Keformed Church 
it was, to say the least, fearfully lugubrious and 
protractive. The long spun out extemporary 
prayers doubtless were magnificent expositions 
of unadulterated faith to the full grown believer, 
but to the youthful listener they might as well 
have been uttered in Sanscnt, the onl}' intelligi- 
ble portions being "benighted heathen," "the lake 
which burns with fire and brimstone," "whited 
sepulchres" and other kindred expressions which 
are uttered in truthfulness, that we are not as other 
men are. The singing was unquestionably praise, 
it certainly was not music. There was no instru- 
mental accompaniment to prescribe either tune 
or modulation, so that free scope was both given 
and taken by the human voice divine, and the 
brother or sister who shrieked the loudest and 
dwelt the longest was considered the furthest ad- 
vanced on the heaventy way. 

The sermon was of course the crowning feature. 
The dominies of the time were no niggards in 
their approi)riation of "Holy Writ," but took 
whole chapters, and long ones at that, for their 
texts. This prudent mode of procedure gave 
them ample scope for their denunciations of all 
classes and conditions of men who by reason of 

14 



LAST DA YS OF KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 15 

education had imbibed different views of the par- 
amount duties of poor, weak, erring humanity. 
As there was no hour-glass on the pulpit or warn- 
ing clock displayed in the bleak square edifice, 
the officiating dominie, merely for form's sake, 
consulted his ponderous gold "bull's eye," and 
placed it out at arm's reach before beginning his 
discourse, but the w^orthy earnest ''fi><her after 
souls," w^itli all his precautions as to time, was on- 
ly restrained in his zealous labor of love by utter 
physical exhaustion. Men were strong then, 
ministers had not become affected with the bron- 
chial disorders so prevalent in the pulpit in these 
latter days; their sermons were long, loud, pon 
derous, nay, even muscular — they clinched each 
telhng point with a heavy right-hand blow on the 
sacred volume before them, as if resolved to fix it 
there for all coming generations. After the pew- 
ter plate had gone its accustomed round, and 
garnered in its pennies — a plateful of those good 
sized tokens w^as a mighty affair — another eight 
stanza hymn, closing with the doxology, was ve- 
hemently shouted, when followed the concluding 
benediction, which to-day would be considered a 
prayer of reasonable duration; but it was always 
a blessing to us youngsters, for during its deliv- 
ery we were permitted to stand, while during the 
other portions of the exercises the custom re- 
quired us to sit bolt upright, with our eyes fixed 
upon the j^ulpit with no outward show of w^eari- 
ness. On our sober walk home, the entertain- 
ment was limited to listening to the family com- 
ments on the doctor's discourse. Grandmother 
said it was full of refreshing consolations, father 



16 LAST DA YS OF 

spoke of its vilal poioer, mother thought the doctor 
had never been happier, while Betty and us chifd- 
ren did not express any opinion, not merely be- 
cause we were not asked, but because we were so 
delighted when the massive Bible was shut with 
a slam, which we knew hid the doctor's notes from 
view, and denoted a speedy termination of tlie 
sermon. The prominent points of the morning 
lesson were again set before us in the lengthened 
grace, ere we were permitted to attack the cold 
collation and apple pie which Betty had prepared 
the day before merely as a sustainer of nature, 
that we might be fortified in the inner man to en- 
dure the afternoon and evening services, which 
were nearly equal in extent and power to the 
grand trial of the morning. 

The Knickerbocker Sabbath has lived out its 
generation, and doubtless accomplished the ends 
for which it was instituted. It was a day of rest 
for all save the dominie and his youthful discij^los. 
To the former, its arduous duties must have 
proved fearfully wearing, even though a man of 
iron constitution unimpaired by luxurious hving. 
To the latter, the seventh day was dreaded on ac- 
count of its w^earisome, unnatural restraints. To 
them it was a silent, cheerless, smileless day, from 
the morning hour of its dawn until the little suf- 
ferers gladly sought their pillows, enlivened vriih 
the thought that six long days of sinful frohc with 
ball, marble and kite must intervene before they 
should again be called upon to perform monastic 
penance. 

The Knickerbocker Hfe was in perfect keeping 
with its Sabbath — stead}', determined, conven- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 17 

lional industry was its prime characteristic ele- 
ment, assured competency its aim, quiet content- 
ment its goal. No doubtful speculative projects 
were entertained; " Chevalliers d' Industrie" few 
and far between, were looked upon with distrust. 
Moderate in tastes and studiously frugal in their 
expenditure of the dollars amassed by honest toil, 
our ancestors had but few rivalries to distui'b 
their equanimity, and these were not of the costly 
iind which to-day call for such fearful twistings 
and turnings on the part of aspiring New Yorkers 
to effect a balance between the means and the 
ends. Fashion ruled, as she ever has, since 
Mother Eve glanced at the reflection of her beau- 
ty as it was mirrored by the placid waters of 
Eden, but the usually exacting mistress seemed 
to assimilate herself to the moderate views of the 
simple men and women among whom her lot was 
temporarily cast. Her demands for changes and 
variety were very limited and her exactness con- 
fined to decorous substantial neatness. Though 
the prescribed st^de of attire would be considered 
a marvel of hideousness to-day, still all dressed as 
if in uniform, from head to foot; so to have 
laughed at the custom of your neighbor would 
virtually be tantamount to jeering at your own, a 
thing people are not apt to do in sober earnest. 
The toilets of the ladies were certainly far fi'om 
being graceful ; httle calculated to enhance the 
charm of face or figure, less even than the quaint 
girls of the shaker Quakeresses of Lebanon ; be- 
sides, the flat, broad, heelless buskin, or the pni- 
nella shpper were very unattractive affairs when 
viewed in contrast with the natty walking boot and 



18 LAST DAYS OF 

its tapering heel, now so bewitchingly displayed on 
our promenades. But then we knew no other 
mode, and were compelled to be satisfied with the 
means within reach to gratify our circumscribed 
desii'es for display. In this at least our jn'ogeni- 
tors were happier than their successors; that they 
were not rendered supremely wretched by the 
insatiate longings now so painfully apparent in 
cosmopolitan New York, for respectable comfort, 
attained by patient striving, fully satisfied their 
highest aspii-ations. Whether their hmited views 
of the pleasure and happiness which this life 
should afford, were correct, might be a difficult 
question to argue with those of our day, wdiose lives 
have been and are one continuous round of giddy 
excitement, who look upon labor, in any form, as 
degrading ; who have adopted as their motto.. 
"Dwm vivamus, vivamus," and who are now reap- 
ing the abundant harvest which their prudent 
ancestors so carefully planted, and are scattering- 
it broadcast in wasteful extravagance and riotous 
living. 

It is becoming, nay it is a duty one owes to 
one's self and to the society in which our lot is 
cast, to live up to the times, to conform in mod- 
eration to usages and customs; in fine so to de- 
mean ourselves as to appear before our fellows 
'* sans reproche " in dress and appointments. Here 
we claim ends our public obligation to the outside 
world, and we have long marvelled that the pow- 
erful press of New York has been so studiously 
silent on the subject of this wicked extravagance 
— this crime of fashion which noAv pervades all 
classes, f^bsorbing the energy and sapping the 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 19 

very vitals of the coming generation. We claim 
as a riglit and duty to put iu an appearance in 
vindication of a better taste and more modest ex- 
penditure. It may happen that in so doing wg 
invade the established monarchy of Fashion and 
thereby give serious offense to some high priests 
and priestesses who worship at her shrine, but we 
profess to be too well versed in the true and 
beautiful to hesitate in what we conceive to be a 
manly duty; so we place annulus in the lists, re- 
solved to splinter a lance and war against this 
crying error of judgment which is fast running 
into Hcentiousness. Through the great thorough- 
fares of our city, /as/u'on rolls along in one steady 
stream of wealth and witchery, of waste and want. 
Her votaries saunter past, or recline in costly 
equipages wrapped in Indian" shawls, for the pos- 
session of which the East India Company, in the 
days of Warren Hastings, would have waged war 
igainst a regiment of native princes. We will 
not say " up town," but speaking generally, will 
assert the fact, that with masses expense is out- 
running income, and that income is sought after 
in channels which too often have theu^ soui^ce in 
fi'aud, and find their issue where crime is wedded 
to punishment, and punishment to perpetual in- 
famy. In and out of the great silken and dry 
goods warehouses, in and out of the tempting 
doorways of the golconda jewelry establishments, 
where diamonds sparkle with more temptation in 
their pendant glory than did the apple in the 
Garden of Paradise ; crowds pass in and out, 
mth the spirit of determined rivalry within flushed 
faces, the petty spirit to outvie one the other in 



20 LAST DA YS OF 

the displaj^ ot bracelets, ot gorgeous pins, cameos 
of fabulous price, bills of destructive items. How 
exquisite is woman, appropriately, modestly at- 
tired; liow radiant are her eyes when there is 
no imperial bauble to flash a rival splendor. A 
rosebud half hidden on the veiled bosom, a stray 
curl, dancing on a chaste brow ; a dainty shawl, 
whose modest colors do not blush at their own 
Xmce; a modest robe, whose mystenous undula- 
tions teach us to look upon the wearer as a being 
of i^erfected taste and dignified modesty, and 
challenges the honest admiration of every true- 
minded gentleman. How our hearts j^earn 
towards her as we feel that she is a woman, not a 
doll; a wife, not a flirt; a maid, and not a decked 
temptation ; a wife who would guard her hus- 
band's credit "on change" as she would his honor 
at home; a maid whose whole deportment sin- 
gles her as the fit companion for life of a consci- 
entious, upright man; a companion, without a wish 
for liveries, with no sigh for foreign dances of 
corrupting intoxication in saloons where the glit- 
ter illumes her father's haggard face, as he re- 
flects that on the morrow when he reaches his 
place of toil the exx^ense of all this reckless dis- 
play will be handed him in a bill, the footing of 
which will shake his credit and perhaps cast him 
on the world a ruined man. We would not dis- 
tui-b, but would rather encom-age the social en- 
joyments of this great city. We would not de- 
prive those who enjoy them of the many evening 
gatherings, the plenteous spread of repubhcan 
hospitality, the beauty and perfume of home- 
raised flowers or home-bred loveliness; but wl5 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 21 

would now and forever enter a solemn protest 
against this i3ride of dress, this useless extrava- 
gance, this rage for corrupt expenditure. Is there 
an}^ heartfelt satisfaction or sincerit}^ in the pre- 
pujffed entertainment which Mrs. Croesus is to give 
to-morrow night at her palatial mansion? Is 
there much enjoyment in the anticipation of an 
entertainment which is to cost the poor devil of a 
stock-jobbing husband most of the profits of his 
hap-hazard speculations ? Not a bit of it. The 
ehining moire antique, the costly lace, the regal 
gem, the contraband boquet, received by stealth 
from some famed gallant, may pass muster for a 
time in a crowded saloon; but, Madame Croesus, 
you must come to grief in the end no matter to 
what extent you have strained your extravagance, 
for Madame Nouveau Biche will surely cross youi* 
path, and you will find yourself in an eclij)se. Her 
scarf alone cost thousands, the plume that decks 
her chignon was the gift of a Eussian prince, her 
tiny fingers bear the tribute of a dozen lovers, 
each worth its weight in forgery and fraud. For 
mercy's sake, fair and*l3eloved American ladies, do 
set your faces against this reckless riot in extrav- 
agant display, this Vanity Fair. Turn your 
thoughts inwardly for a moment and reflect. 
Serious thought may perhaps induce some to ex- 
ercise that moderation which will commend itself 
even in this railroad age. Vie not with the mush- 
rooms that spring up in a night, and wither if 
they be not promptly gathered. The test of so- 
cial elevation is a moderate tone of conduct, for 
that marks a mind secure in its own strength and 
equal to the destiny to which Heaven has in- 
voked it. 



22 LAST DAYS OF 

Genuine liosj)itality was a prominent feature 
of Knickerbccker life. The old fogies had 
hearts, and big at that, though their carefulness 
would now be set down as parsimony, but their 
sympathies and their pleasures clustered around 
the family hearth in winter and the family porch 
in summer. Home was the family castle; it was 
the stronghold to which even the offshoots clung, 
and in time of trouble it afforded a sure refuge 
for all the worthy ones who raised the brass. 
knocker. It was reared upon a sure foundation 
and frugal forethought was the bolt employed to 
bar the entrance against harassing and wasting 
cares. Order, punctuahty and cleanliness were 
its chief ornaments, and it was ever ruled by a 
parental authority strictly enforced. There was 
no lack of social enjoyment within its enclosure, 
but even that was tempered by a moderation 
which i^recluded the idea of satiety. The tables 
of our forefathers wero sim2:)le in appointments, 
yet they were bountifully provided when the 
limited variety which the markets afforded was 
considered. The meal consisted of one course, 
or rather the repast comprising meats, poultry, 
vegetables, pies, puddings, sweetmeats and fruits 
(viz. : Newtown pippins, almonds and raisins) was 
crowded upon the board with such artistic ar- 
rangement as circumstances would permit. As 
extension tables had not then been introduced, 
considerable figuring had to be indulged in be- 
fore the blue china j^latters could be jDlaced so afj 
to allow sufficient sj^ace for the full disjDlay of the 
French gilt edged tea set which was tlie matron's 
pride. The viands on these grand occasions. 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 23 

wli©ii perchance the Dominie, Doctor or some 
other dignitary was to honor the house with his 
company, were prepared or directly superin- 
tended by the dame in person, as those duties 
were deemed too important to be performed by 
a deputy and far too delicate to be executed by 
a menial. In this connection there comes up a 
vivid recollection, — grandmother's pantry. To us 
youngsters it appeared the storehouse of every- 
thing that mortal man could either desire or 
hope for to make life a perfect Elysian. That 
pantry has its charms even now in fancy as its 
many dainties are recalled. Notwithstanding 
some sage modern philosopher has discovered 
the astounding fact that the man who sighs to 
taste once more such pies as his mother made, 
would be sadly disappointed, were his wish 
granted, to find he was sadly mistaken, as he had 
lost his youthful appetite. That idea is only " a 
weak invention of the enemy.'' In any event 
grandmother's pantry would be a curiosity to 
our city ladies who are accustomed to the con- 
venient market and grocer}^ restaurant or con- 
fectioner's shop, from which at a moment's notice 
any needed article of necessity or luxury can be 
obtained. Grandmother had no such reserve 
from which to draw her supphes in case of 
emergency, but was compelled to rely upon those 
famous pantry shelves to furnish the needful 
supphes or the few extra dainties deemed es- 
sential to the proper entertainment of guests. 
Groceries, in the old-fashioned meaning of the 
word, constituted the bulk of the treasm'es hoard- 
ed within the tabooed enclosure of that mysteri-^ 



'24: LAST DAYS OF 

ous receptacle. The door was carefully locked as 
a sure precaution against the inquisitive eyes 
•and quick fingers of the household hopefuls, who 
were ever on the alert for a sly peep and grab 
should the cautious guardian chance for a mo- 
ment to leave the door ajar. Flour, sugar, coffee, 
tea, with boxes of soap and starch, formed the 
grand staples of the semi-annual supply, and 
were ranged on the ampin floor with mathemat- 
ical precision. The first wi le shelf above these 
prominent essentials was devoted to the tiu spice 
boxes duly labeled as to their several contents, 
w^ith sundry large earthen jars which were well 
known to contain the plain cake for daily use, 
while carefully behind them were stored, as a 
precautionary measure, a couple of similar re- 
cej^tacles, which were special objects of interest, 
as they hid fi'om view the best pound and plum 
cake, a bit of which was now and then awarded 
as the reward of extraordinary virtue, but was 
■esjoecially dedicated to such occasions when it 
was deemed absolutely indispensable to pa- 
rade ^Hhe company tea set," the silver tea 
pot, sugar bowl, milk jug and the little 
cut glass preserve plates which stood up in a 
corner, with tissue paper between each, lest they 
should by accident be scratched b}^ fiiction. The 
second shelf was reserved for the sweetmeats, 
which though not so varied in kind, are in mem- 
ory far more luscious than the pretentious com- 
pounds now iJiu'chased in their stead by Grand- 
mother's aristocratic descendants. Peach, plum, 
quince about complete the Hst, but the fruits 
were carefulh' selected, and loaf sugar unadulter- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIEE. 25 

ated by chemical science was the only agent em~ 
ployed in their preparation by the skilled house- 
wife in person. Her whole soul was, however, 
engaged in the work, and her syrup was not to 
be surpassed in richness or clearness if care and 
assiduity could prevent. Quality was her aim in 
sweetmeats as well as her standard in more im- 
portant matters than those pertaining to mere 
articles for consumption, though excellence in 
these was "sine qua 7ion" to her conception of 
good breeding. No baskets of champagne or 
cases of Rhine wine ; no imported sauces, mar- 
malades, pickles, or appetizers were displayed on 
the shelves, but a modeiate supply of Jamaica 
rum, pure Madeira and French brand}^, with a 
flask of peppermint cordial, were then ever at 
hand to "welcome the coming or speed the part- 
ing guest." In the winter, Newtown pippins, 
mingled their aroma with the other good things 
stored in this house of plenty. One of these 
good things must especially not be overlooked, for 
it is not seen to-day, save in the window of some 
confectioner, where it is barely recognizable, 
though it bears the name still of iieanut candy. 
The thin, attenuated paste has but slight resem- 
blance in appearance and does not approach in 
taste the massive blocks of the spiced deUcacy 
which rose like a monument to bid defiance ta 
the most vigorous attacks of man and boy ; but, 
as plate after plate was hammered off to meet the 
demand created by the bright circle congregated 
aroimd the cheerful hickory blaze, it disappeared 
ere the long Winter had lapsed into Sj^riug. 
Here and there, at prominent points on the^ 



26 LAST DA YS OF 

shelves, were displayed ancient family heir-looms 
in the crockeiy line, preserved as mementoes to 
recall some favorite set which had succumbed to 
the ravages of time. Grandmother took great 
pride in regaling our young eyes with an occas- 
ional inspection of these much revered " penates" 
many of them having been special transmissions 
from the far-off, dusty past. Their separate his- 
tories, as received from her lips, invested each 
plate, cup or saucer with a consideration which 
bordered upon veneration, and we considered 
them as actual witnesses to a long line of worthy 
ancestry. Grandmother's pantry was a fact in 
youth ; it is still, as it were, palpable in middle 
age, for having once been seen and known can 
never be forgotten, but will hold its place in 
memor}^, despite all the modern appliances and 
lazy counterfeits which increased wealth and lux- 
xiry have introduced in its stead. These, as they 
pass away to give place to newer inventions, 
which pander more and more to inertia and sloth, 
have no charm upon which recollection loves to 
linger ; they fix no bright spot in childhood's 
days. 

Grandmother's parlor will appear very indi- 
gent, common place and perchance poverty- 
stricken, to such as have known no other than 
the richly appointed, luxui'ious drawing rooms, 
now deemed so essential to comfort, and actually 
demanded by respectability. The stiff, high- 
backed, armless mahogany chairs, covered with 
shiny black hau'cloth fastened to the ponderous 
frames by brass-headed nails, thickly set, all 
ranged at precise distances, plumb against the 



KXICKERBOCKER LIFE. 27 

wall, like aentineU at a present; the long, narrow, 
hard sofa, with seat so round, unyielding and 
shpper}^, that it afforded capital coasting for 
youngsters, when the lynx-eyed guardian of the 
sacred domain was too busily employed in house- 
hold duties to check the contraband sport, this 
sofa would certainly not be claimed a second time 
as a couch of ease for a fashionable belle to repose 
on after a night of dissi]3ation; the rolls, which 
for form's sake were styled pillows, and stuffed in 
appropriate niches at either end, would have af- 
forded but slight ease to her aching head, for 
they were as unimpressible as flint; the grand, 
best carpet of the highly-prized Lilly pattern with 
its straggling vines and well-developed leaves of 
the highest i)ossible green would fail to meet the 
entire commendation of the eye accustomed to 
the soft, subdued substance of velvety softness 
at present in vogue; the high broad mantle tree of 
gaily variegated Italian marble would be looked 
upon as a waste of raw material when viewed side 
by side with the elaborately chiseled resting place 
for statuettes which ornaments the modern salon; 
the china vases mounted on pedestals and filled 
with artificial roses, as unhke nature as man could 
pussibly make them; the tall, highly-pohshed sil- 
ver candle-sticks, flanked by the inseparable snuf- 
fers and tray rubbed bright to match; the old- 
fashioned sideboard with heavy stubby decanters 
filled vdth Madeira and Santa Cruz, and its silver 
baskets each day replenished with fi-esli dough- 
nuts and crullers as a real earnest of hosjDitality; 
the stationary pier tables at the extremities, spe- 
cial places of deposit for the family Bible, a vol- 



28 LAST DA YS OF KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 

ume or two of some well-autlieuticated commen- 
taries and a co^Dy of Watt's hymns, wliicli books 
were the mamstay of the household so far as li~ 
brary was concerned — as the venerable, if not tO' 
say venerated New York Observer furnished 
weekly all the desired information on missionar}^ 
subjects w^hich were then deemed of paramount 
importance to a community so supremely happy 
and contented ; the diminutive, thin-legged, 
wheezy piano, purchased during some paroxysm 
of thoughtless extravagance, but never opened 
save on the semi-annual dusting day; the indis- 
pensable rocking-chair and foot-stool; the por- 
traits of grandfather and grandmother as they 
were supi^osed to have presented themselves in 
their far-oif youth to the artistic eye of some 
traveling painter; they were mementoes of the 
fact that a marriage had taken place, and served 
to transmit some faint idea of a long defunct cos- 
tume; a worsted work sampler, commemorative 
of some solemn church 3'ard reminiscence or the 
more common Ten Commandments, the crowding 
effort of a much-beloved, departed daughter, 
having been named, the ordinary array of decora- 
tion ifci complete, with the single exception that 
the bi;jght gTeen, inside Venetian blinds so essen- 
tial to completeness of detail were for the mo- 
ment forgotten, but thank goodness the oversight 
was discovered in time to avoid giving a pang to 
some ancient dame, who had dusted and shaded 
them for so many years that she would not easily 
have pardoned this prominent negligence on the 
part of one who professes to narrate facts and de- 
scribe things as they were. 



CHAPTEK THIED. 

Many of the quaint pieces of furniture whicli 
were grandmother's pride are still sound and fii-m, 
for they were made " not for a day, but for all 
time," but they are rarely seen save on moving 
day, when, with much tugging and many a half 
suppressed — thought, they are borne by unap- 
jjreciative hands from one garret, together with 
dust and cobwebs, into another, until such time 
as the words To Let are posted on the door- 
way of their uncertain resting place, for grand- 
mother's descendants have become birds of pas- 
sage, soon tire of sameness, and have long erased 
from their lexicon the now practically historic 
word "home." Still, on a sharp winter night 
there was solid comfort and unfeigned enjoyment 
in that primitive old parlor. The oak logs piled 
high on the massive andii ons, blazing and crack- 
Hng, dispensed a most genial warmth; the astral 
lamp and wax candles shed a subdued, mellow 
light. At such a time the stiff high chairs -vuere 
not amiss when drawn cosily about the spacious 
fire-place, and the family convened for social chat 
Nuts and apples, cider and doughnuts, with 
grandfathers Santa Cruz todd}', comprised the 
entertainment. On such festive occasions the 
bashful sweetheart not unfrequently managed to 
slip in, and while paring apples for the old folks, 

29 



30 LAST DAYS OF 

would snatch the opportunity to glance the story 
of liis love, and find himself assiured by a crimson 
blush that would shed a halo about the prim old 
parlor. The simj)le unostentatious home has at 
length passed away, but long years have been re- 
quired to eradicate the lessons it inculcated, and 
the staid habits formed by its punctuality and 
decorum. The barriers which encircled it were 
firmly reared, but have now been leveled by 
worldly pride, aided by all the forces luxury 
could marshal to affect their downfall. The 
splendid palaces erected by modern Aladdins now 
constitute one of the crowning glories of our 
beautiful city; they are magnificent to look upon, 
as row upon row springs up as if by magic — they 
are indeed undisputed types of skilled labor. But 
the query starts almost unbidden, are not most 
of them costly piles reared on the 'Hgnis fatuus" 
of unsubstantial theory and doubtful bubble, 
which may at any moment enforce theii' transfer 
from the possession of the vain rej^uted owners 
into the stern clutches of the tjTant Mortgage? 
when the gay occupants who revelled in their 
credit, based on hope alone, will find themselves 
quickly forgotten in the race for notoriety which 
now sweeps over Manhattan. 

THE BATTERY. 

I The Battery was our " breathing spot," and its 
I charms were chanted with the same pride and 
I dehght now manifested by young New York when 
i descanting on the splendors which cluster in 
land about the Central Park. Its graveled shady 
paths and somewhat irregular plots of grass had 
not been superintended by a professor educated 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 31 

in the science of landscape gardening, nor was 
the enclosure under the sj)ecial care of a " high 
commission." Still no modern art or set of men 
possessed the power to add to the natural beau- 
ties of its surroundings, as the eye swept over our 
unrivalled bay, any more than could such human 
agencies supply the life giving breeze, which on 
each afternoon was freely wafted from old Ocean, 
to cool the fevered cit3^ It could boast of no 
statues, it had no sequestered bowers or artistic 
fountains, no mall with its music, no lake with its 
gondolas, no deer, buffalo, camel or Merino 
sheep, its benches were rude, unpainted boards, 
admirably adapted to tell the finish of a new pen- 
knife, and yet lacking all these and many more of 
the' newly discovered necessities of the present 
hour, it was to us a park of unequaled beauty, 
and travelers from distant shores were loud in its 
praises, though their recollection of far famed Na- 
ples was vividly fresh. The Battery was our sum- 
mer promenade, when it was no bar to social 
standing for a family to remain in the city, for 
even the belle or gallant did not lose caste by de- 
clining to j)articipate in the routine of watering 
place life, simple and inexperienced as it then 
was. We had summer resorts in those days, and 
they were patronized by the best and most prom- 
inent citizens of the country. The springs at Sar- 
atoga were resorted to, primarily for their restor- 
ative qualities, but the visitors who sought them, 
very far from playing the role of confirmed inva- 
lids, made their sojourn there a season of rational 
temperate enjoyment, which enabled them to re- 
turn to their duties reinvigorated in mind as well 



32 LAST DAYS OF 

as ill body, anxious for the renewal of the pleas^ 
ant associations then formed, when another year 
should have rolled away. " The, Beach at Eocka- 
way,'' immortalized by the military poet, Geo. P. 
Morris, was another and more accessible resort 
where New Yorkers were wont to congregate, 
while the now much despised Coney Island, with 
its broiled chicken, its roast clams, and salt sea 
waves, lured many a party to its unpretending 
hotel. No serious prex^arations were requisite for 
the pleasure trips; no scrimpings or cui'tailments 
needed on the part of father or mother to fill 
Saratoga trunks with dresses, or liquidate extor- 
tionate charges. Marriages were more decorous- 
ly brought about ; flirtations more innocent and 
far less expensive to all parties concerned. 

^* As the Sun luent down — * No, not exactly 
then, for one of the maxims of the day was 
*' Eaiiy to bed and early to risey' but when the Sun 
was far past its meridian power, the best, the 
bravest and the fairest of our denizens wended 
their way to the Battery to enjoy a stroll and ex- 
change friendly greetings. It was in reality a 
pleasure ground, the leveling hand of greedy 
speculation had not touched it, and it was re- 
moved fi'om the dust and turmoil of traffic. 
Private residences as pretentious as any the city 
then possessed flanked it on the North and East, 
on the South and West the grand old Bay glis- 
tened and danced. The yacht with its symmetric il 
lines, its raking masts, its cloud of snowy canvas, 
its club house, commodore, regatta, cup, its balls 
and signals, its nautical lore and international 
pride was then in the periauger and cat-boat state 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 33 

of existence. The ''AmericcL' had neither been de* 
signed nor launched, but George Steers was per- 
haps whittling chips into the curving shapes 
which eventually gave to his name a world-wide 
fame. The oar was then, however, in its glory, 
unstained by the gambling matches which in lat- 
ter days have fastened themselves upon this manly 
invigorating sport. The Wave, with her famous 
four-oared crew, was the chamjDion boat of the 
hour. The Rollins and Dunderdale Brothers were 
the athletes whose powerful, steady stroke achieved 
her renown; and the hearty plaudits of prome- 
naders were freely av*arded them when display- 
.ing their masterly skill they sent theii- tiny shell 
at a racing pace over the waters. 
' Castle Garden, the legend says, was created to 
protect the city against the foreign invader. 
"Whether these invaders were to be New Jf/rsey 
Indians, armed with bow and arrow, or Staten 
Island pii-ates, bent upon destruction with pop- 
gun and fii'ecracker, is not related; but it is cer- 
tain very limited force would have been required 
to effect an entrance through its brick walls. 
About the time we write of, its " loud-mouthed " 
armament had been removed; it had been placed 
by special orders from somewhere on a peace 
footing. It was neither a concert saloon, an opera 
house or a receptacle for needy emigrants, but 
the old white-washed barn was devoted to the 
restaurant business on a very hmited scale, as ice 
•cream, lemonade and sponge cake constituted the 
list of the delicacies from whicli to select. The 
ticket of admission required to pass its porfcuUis 
€0st one shilling; but that was a mere form msti- 



34 LAST DA YS OF 

tutedto guarantee perfect decorum, for it was 
redeemable as cash in exchange for either of the 
above-specified articles of refi'eshment. At the 
close of a Summer day its frowning bafflements 
were crowded with hsteners, eager to catch a strain 
of martial music wafted from Governor's Island. 
The Battery possessed another grand attiaction, 
and one which has been excluded from the Cen- 
tral Park; it was the favorite parade ground of 
our famous militia, then under the command of 
Major General Morton. The official and domes- 
tic headquarters of this dignitary were situated 
on State Street, and as the veteran clung to his 
honors long after age hfid rendered him too in- 
firm to mount his charger, the crack corps of the 
division at inteiTals paid theh' commander the 
comphment of a marching salute, to be reviewed 
from his balcony; and at the same time win the 
smiles of beauty as a reward for their gallant 
bearing. Conspicuous among these military or- 
ganizations were the Tompkins Blues, Captain 
Vincent, and the Pulaski Cadets, Captain McArdle. 
A fierce rivahy existed between these two com- 
mands, and when either paraded it was certain to 
be accompanied by a side-walk committee of ad- 
miring sympathizers and imposing numbers. So 
far as the public could judge, both were comjDosed 
" of good men and true ; " they were natty and 
neat in their soldierly make-ui^; they certainly 
marched with the determined, precise tread of 
veterans who had been under fire and would not 
flinch. Sure it was, both had an undisj^uted repu- 
tation for charging upon a well-loaded board with 
a will that left no tell-tale vestige. " The esprU 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 35 

du corps" so characteristic of tlieir early career, 
has been in a measure transmitted to their suc- 
cessors, who keep ahve the strife for supremacy 
under the titles of Light and City Guards re- 
spectively. But the veterans of the rival factions, 
enfeebled by excessive gastronomical service; no 
longer able to cope with the fresh recruits, have 
enrolled themselves as a band of brothers, and by 
special legislative enactment assumed the impos- 
ing title of the Old Guard. By special order of 
their chosen commandant, the now venerable 
George W. McLean, these scarred warriors meet 
now and then, clad in full regalia, to fight the:.r 
battles over again; to pledge each other in spark- 
ling bumpers, with "no heel taps," in commemo- 
ration of Old Lang Syne, and to close up the 
ranks, as one after another falls by the way in this 
battle of life. 

The streets bordeiing on and adjacent to the 
Battery were the choice spots of abode. Com- 
merce in its imperative demand for space at length 
drove off the reluctant proprietors, and this once 
favorite lounging place dwindled by neglect into 
\ a barren waste, visited by few save the homeless 
j emigrants who sought shelter in the barracks at 
I Castle Garden, and the lawless vagrant who 
Iprowled about to plunder the friendless stranger 
jjust landed on our shores. Many of the original 
Louses still remain, but have passed through all 
/the stages of decHne which mark city neighbor- 
hoods when tabood by Fashion. 
I At the corner of Broadway and Marketiield 
Street there still stands the outward presentment 
of a once famous mansion, which now bears the 



86 LAST DAYS OF 

sign of Washington Hotel. In former yeai-s it 
was the residence of Sir Henry CHnton, and noted 
for its generous hospitaUty. But its light went 
out, when Edward Prime, of the well-known bank 
ing house of Prime, Ward & King, who tena- 
ciously clung to it as his chosen home, was com- 
pelled to abandon it. Stephen Whitney, Phillips 
Phoenix, Peter H. Schenck, and the Messrs 
Schermerhorn, Ray, with their confi-eres, were 
soon forced to follow suit in the uj)-town move- 
ment, and boarding houses rule.d the district 
where the old stock were born, lived and died. 

Before passing on, it would be remiss not 
to step in for a moment to exchange civilities 
with Peter Bayard, a publican all be it, but 
still a worthy and noted Knickerbocker. On 
State Street near Pearl there was a famous re- 
sort; not famous by virtue of outward appear- 
ance, for it was but a simple two-story build- 
ing. Its modest exterior, however, gave no sign 
of the glorious cheer which reigned within. Pe- 
ter Bayard was the presiding genius, and his epi- 
curean fame extended far beyond the contracted 
city limits; for pompous, portly patroons/rom the 
far off up-river, with low-crowned, broad-brimmed 
hats, massive fob chains and seals, cambric ruffles, 
and spacious coat-flaps; sedate, primly-clad so- 
journers in the City of Penn, snuff-colored deni- 
zens of Jersey, and not a few typical representa- 
tives of the cute notion trihe, who had heard of the 
morsels which Peter wrought to tickle the palate, 
came personally to test their truthfulness. Peter 
dispensed choice wines and liquors; the rarest 
l^ivalves were sure to be found there in season; in 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 37 

fact, he ransacked the market to procure dainties 
to educate taste. But Peter's crowning effort was 
Turtle Soup, that was the magnet which never 
failed to draw a full house. It was delicious; 
even the dim recollections of its savory fumes is 
tantamount to a feast, when pitted against the 
watery substances now served in its stead, even 
though they be served in gorgeous apartments 
and the vessels which contain them be of the near- 
est approach to genuine silver. For years Pete 
Bayard's was the rendezvous for old and vouno- 
who cultivated and appreciated the inner man. 
After a bowl of turtle soup and a glass or two of 
his generous Port as a sure corrective for acidity, 
every one became a fiiend of our friend Peter 
Bayard. 



CHAPTER FOURTH. 

The trade of the city was concentrated at the 
Southern end of the Island, and as a sequence 
the hotels were found in that section. They were 
not numerous, for their patronage in the main de- 
pended upon the then limited travehng public, 
and such bachelors as were forced fi'om cu'cun.- 
stances to avail themselves of this pretext for a 
home. To board was not considered exactly the 
thing by the matrons of the period, and the dame 
who voluntarily abandoned her house-keeping and 
adopted hotel or boarding-house life in its stead, 
soon found herself deliberately snubbed, while 
the one who was compelled by ciroi^mstances to 
submit to this curtailment of woman'a rights, was 
heartily commiserated with by her fi'iends at all 
their tea-party gatherings. Still, despite this 
positive drawback against hotel life, there was al- 
ways to be found a fair sprinkling of human kind 
to enliven the parlor and prevent the dining-room 
froni becoming a mere feeding trough. For man was 
not created to be alone when time began; left to 
himself even now he would soon degenerate and 
be contented with husks, if the}^ satiated apj^etite. 

Miss Margaret Mann was the head and front 
of the noted boarding-house of New York, and as 
this was largely patronized by the ladies it de- 
serves precedence. No. 61 Broadway was a cele- 



LAST n A YS OF KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 39 

brated locality; its capacity and reputation would 
perhaps entitle it to be styled a hotel. Aunt 
Margaret, as the hostess was familiarly styled, 
was an advanced specimen of her sex. She wore 
a plain frock, wholly unornamented, and scant as 
locomotion would permit; no laces, frills, ribbons, 
bows, — knicknacks of any description, did not find 
favor in her eyes; she mounted a scrimpy cap on 
extraordinary occasions, but in full business trnn 
her lank hair was twisted in an unartistic lump at 
the back of her head, while the balance was forced 
to make shift with an occasional "Hck and prom- 
ise" hastily bestowed. Aunt Margaret w^as a 
driving woman. No one would have dreamed of 
such nonsense as addressing her in soft, soothing 
tones, for the result would have proved about as 
satisfactory should some fool attempt to pat and 
flatter a locomotive under a full head of steam. 
Comphment or suavity were not in her vocabula- 
ry. Brusque and bustling, she was never known 
to rest, and rumor says she gave but little to her 
hard- worked employees. She was thick-set and 
heavy in person, yet she seemed ubiquitous, and 
no detective, even old Hays himself, could surpass 
her prying qualities. She was rarely demonstra- 
tive, but was known to possess a tongue which 
when called into requisition was a most powerful 
weapon either for offense or defence as the case 
might be. Woe betide the unlucky wight who 
provoked her wrath, for when fully roused she 
respected neither person, time nor place. 

But under Aunt Margaret's hard exterior there 
was hidden a well of human kindness which occa- 
sionally bubbled up and demonstrated that the 



40 LAST DAYS OF^ 

fountain at her heart had not run dry. To her 
own she was gentle and kind. To an aged mother 
and three orphan children of a deceased sister, 
she was iDeculiarly attached, and her usually cold 
eye would light up with sympathetic pride when 
these were noticed by her guests ; but to no one 
save these children, and a f ew^ of their young com- 
panions, did she ever betray the feelings which are 
generally attributed to woman. The house itself,be- 
yond being eminently respectable, and so to speak, 
fashionable, had but httle to recommend it. The 
parlors were plainly furnished and dimly lighted; 
the bedrooms scantily supphed with the com- 
monest articles of necessity; the long dining-hall, 
lighted from either side by a row of naked, star- 
ing windows, unadorned with white walls; nar- 
row tables furnished with a goodly variety of 
palatably prepared food, but set out with cheap 
crockery, cheap glass, cheap everything which 
tends to render a meal attractive; yet it was ac- 
cepted by strangers of note, foreign and native. 
The guests of the house were, as a rule, sociable, 
perhaps from necessity, for the circle of amuse- 
ments were limited, and so men were satisfied to 
enjoy themselves with a dance and an occasional 
song. It was in the parlor of 61 Broadway that Sin- 
clair, the father of Mrs. Edwin Forrest, actually 
made his debut in America, for on the eve of his 
first appearance at the Park Theatre he dehghted 
his listeners with the strains of the "Mistletoe 
Bough," a ballad which stamped his popularity 
with our lovers of music during his prolonged 
engagement, Tyrone Power, when here, was 
also a guest at this house, and enchanted all who 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 41 

met him with his rich, polished brogue, and 
rolHcking fascination of manner. On the whole, 
Aunt Margaret had seldom cause to find fault 
with her patrons, but now and then, when some 
interloper would accidentally slip in, she soon 
discovered some summary method to dispense 
with the company of the objectionable inmate. 
The City Hotel occupied the entire front of the 
block on Broadway bounded by Thames and 
Cedar Streets. It was not only the most cele- 
brated house of entertainment in the city but 
travelers asserted it had no equal in the United 
States. So far as architectui-e was concerned it 
was a plain, high structure, pierced with the 
usual number of square windows, unadorned by 
lace or damask hangings, with nothing, in fact, 
to exclude the rays of Old Sol or the impertinent 
glances of inquisitive neighbors but solid white 
inside shutters, most effectual bars against both 
Hght and air. The interior fittings of our Grand 
Hotel, whose register paraded the names of our 
most prominent citizens from every section, in 
addition to those of the limited number of travel- 
ers and tourists from abroad, who were sufficient- 
ly enterprising to brave the tedious passage across 
the boisterous Atlantic, were very plain when 
compared with the gilded, fi-escoed palaces, 
adorned by ever}^ article of vertu which the cun- 
ning artificers of the old and new world can 
devise to pander to an extravagant era. The 
furniture was the best of its kind, durable but 
unostentatious; in perfect keeping with the mod- 
est views whir-h then ruled. Substantial comfort, 
BO far as it could be had, was the ruling motive, 



42 LAST DAYS OF 

and in no instance was that paramount essential 
ever lost siglit of to make room for senseless 
display. The dining-room of the City Hotel was 
spacious, light and well ventilated, but its ap- 
pointments could lay claim to little, save the 
most thorough neatness, and scinipulous clean- 
liness. The waiters, ample as to numbers, were 
well trained and obsequiously attentive to every 
want, and the guest would have been more than 
unreasonable who found fault with a feast abund- 
ant in quantity and selected with the greatest 
care by the most experienced caterer in the land. 
Our markets were not bare of delicacies, for our 
hay and ri\3er8 furnished fish in every variety and 
as dehcate ih flavor as they are conceded to be 
at present; wild duck and game of every sort 
abounded within limited distance; meats were 
plentiful and cheap, and, with the single exception 
of mutton, most excellent in quality. But, so far 
as fruits and vegetables were concerned, the 
supply beyond the commonest sorts was very 
limited, and that confined to the season when 
they could be raised out of doors in the imme- 
diate vicinity. The tomato, now so general an 
article of consumption, was unknown as an edible 
and grown merely as an ornamental plant in 
country gardens, where it was styled "love 
apple " by the agricultural dames. 

Dinner has, however, always been a most im- 
portant daily event with all classes and conditions 
of men, women and children. In the early days 
of our city the noon hour was devoted by the 
plodding burghers to the enjoyment of the noon- 
tide feast. "When the old Middle Dutch bell 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 43 

clanked twelve o'clock, work was suspended, as if 
" the affairs of men " had come to a full stop ; 
master and man quit without comphment, each 
hastening to his abode to devote the prescribed 
respite to the positive refreshment of his import- 
ant person. Lunch is a very modern word, so 
far as New York is concerned. Three meals per 
diem, and to be partaken of at home at specified 
periods, Avas the rule. Bites and ni'ps were un- 
known in Knickerbocker parlance ; what a man 
ate or drank, must be shared with his family. 
There were no convenient " dwes" a word well 
understood at present ; few eating houses, with 
" meals at all hours " displayed on flaming signs ; 
free lunches not dreamed of ; sandwiches only 
prepared at home, and only on such rare occa- 
sions when some protracted journey of several 
hours duration was necessarily undertaken. 
Breakfast, dinner and tea, at the specified houi', 
was prepared at home, and absence from either, 
or even a dilatory appearance, was deemed just 
cause for a domestic coui't martial, and if of fre- 
quent recurrence, worthy a sympathetic meeting 
of condolence by the watchful neighbors. 

When the City Hotel was in its full prime, 
some glimmering rays of modern improvement 
were introduced by one and another, who after 
visiting England and France, had returned home 
inoculated with what was then contemptuously 
styled "foreign airs" Some of these hooted at 
the primitive noon-meal so hugely enjoyed in 
their unpolished youth, and by slow stages three 
o'clock became the extra fashionable hmit for a 
meal called dinner, for it crowded so closely upon 



44 LAST DA YS OF 

the old Knickerbocker tea, that the innovation 
was disputed inch by inch, as our Grandmother's 
prerogative of a long undisturbed afternoon wa3 
in a fair way of being wiped out by this new- 
fangled change in domestic life. 

The City Hotel was among the first to fall into 
line and three o'clock was announced as its dinner 
hour, though a noon table was spread for the ac- 
commodation of such thoroughbred sticklers as 
would not conform. As most of the guests were 
business men, the change, however, was of slight 
consequence, as these would not at any hour of 
the day have devoted the time to the discussion 
of a repast so essential to good digestion. Dys- 
pepsia always has been an American weakness; 
all the TroUopes and Dickens of the world cannot 
eradicate this national trait. It may be said that 
New Yorkers, especially, love dyspepsia; at any 
rate they court it from their cradles to their 
graves. The choice viands of the City Hotel table 
were dealt with in the most summary manner, as 
the hungry partakers were compelled to hasten 
back to store, counting-house or office to resume 
the broken thread of traffic. 

There were, however, a few choice spirits, 
bachelors or widowers, heaven only knows which, 
who had drifted, one by one, within the portals of 
the City Hotel, where, by similarity of tastes, they 
had formed a coterie of their own, and after pass- 
ing the needful by-laws they had become a mutu- 
al admiration society. They clustered at a speci- 
fied spot, of which they had formally taken pos- 
session, and each day settled themselves to enjoy 
to the lull of their bent the evening of their days. 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 45 

They were men who had lived beyond the time 
when drudgery was a prime necessity, and by 
common consent they Ungered at the table after 
the heat of the battle for food was over, to crack 
their jokes, nibble their filberts, and sip their 
wine. 

The wine cellar of the Old Hotel was a well- 
known institution, and its memory is still cher- 
ished by not a few, who in youth had tasted its 
rare stores. Its shelves were loaded tier upon 
tier with the choicest vintages the nicest taste 
could call, and the selections were pronounced 
by connoisseurs as unsurpassed in purity or flavor. 
The judgment then expressed was in after years 
amply verified; for when the old stamping-ground 
was abandoned in consequence of the up-toion 
movement, the remnants remaining of the favorite 
brands were secured at fabulous prices by the 
initiated. Light wines from the Rhine and clarets 
fi'om France were not then in vogue, even the 
now indispensable Heidseck was but little affect- 
ed, as the taste ran to the more generous, fruity 
and invigorating Madeira, port and sherry of a 
quahty and perfume which gold cannot purchase 
now. In these rare juices of the grape, the bevy 
of old " hon vivants " delighted to indulge, and it 
was rare sport to watch them as a bottle of some 
rare variety was carefully uncorked by Chester 
Jennings in person; it was a perfect study to note 
the genuine glow of expectation that mantled 
the ruddy faces of the group as each daintily 
raised his glass, that the eye might revel once 
more in the glorious tint ere the full fruition of 
taste should impart perfect earthly bliss. 



46 LAST DAYS OF 

This band of "jolly good fellows," who lingered 
day after day for long years over their wine and 
nuts, were well known characters in the city, and 
were especially familiar to such as visited the 
City Hotel where they lived and died. A mere 
mention of some of their names with a brief de- 
scrij^tion of their peculiarities will bring back 
many pleasing recollections to any one familiar 
with the men who figured in Gotham forty years 
ago. 

Colonel Nick Saltus, a retired merchant of 
wealth and a confirmed old bachelor, was the ac- 
knowledged chairman and spokesman of the pe- 
culiar group. In person he was short and thick- 
set, with a manner so pompous, that once seen, 
the man was for all time photographed upon the 
recollection. His tone of voice was unusually 
abrupt and dictatorial, and until mollified by his 
duck and olives, accompanied with copious liba- 
tions of Madeira, he might with the greatest pro- 
l^riety be characterized as thundering cross. His 
dress was singular, raVher from his method of 
donning it than from any special departui'e fi'om 
the iDrevailing mode. His costume as a rule con- 
sisted of a brown frock coat with velvet collar but- 
toned closely at the throat, a black handkerchief, 
stiff standing shirt collar reaching to the ears. 
His gold spectacles were balanced on the very tip 
of his well-cultivated nose, a formidable featui-e, 
by the way, of his closely-shaven face, while his 
high beaver was canted so far to the front as com- 
pletely to overshadow his eyes. His carriage was 
wonderfully erect, and he walked with the strut 
of a dandy up to his very latest promenade. Tho 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 47 

Colonel worshipped himself, but his little Tani- 
ties were harmless, and his hauteur soon gave 
way when one had the patience to Hsten with re- 
spectful silence to the long-drawn details of his 
youthful indiscretions and gallant exploits. For 
many years his migrations were limited by Cedar 
Street on the North and Wall Street on the 
South; his aim being to have a good time and in 
his own way, which was systematic in the extreme; 
and each day closed like its predecessor: the 
worthy colonel was, at or about ten p. m., con- 
siderably "how come you so," when fortified with 
a generous bumper of spiced rum for a nightcap, 
the old fellow toddled off to bed. 

Werckmeister was the Colonel's right bower at 
table, but was unlike him in every particular as it 
was j)ossibie for man to be. Tall, sedate, quiet 
in dress and address he was a fine representative 
of the German gentleman. There are but few 
citizens not familiar with the old sign, " Werck- 
meister, Importer of Toys," which, until very re- 
cently, was conspicuously displayed at the north- 
east corner of Broadway and Liberty Street, be- 
tw een which point and the City Hotel its pro- 
prietor migrated with marvellous punctuality for 
more than a quarter of a century. A bachelor 
like the Colonel, his whole time up to three 
o'clock was devoted to the traffic in which he had 
accumulated a competency, but all desire for 
further gain was thrown aside when the all- 
important dinner hour was at hand. " Its near 
three o'clock; Werckmeister is on his way to din- 
ner!" was daily the inward exclamation of many a 
belated man or boy who encountered him in his 



48 LAST DA YS OF 

stereotype tramp from duty to pleasure. Tli0> 
dining-room was the only place in the hotel that 
he ever frequented; from habit he slept at his 
store until the day of his death, which occurred 
when he was far advanced in years. He loved ta 
linger over the dinner table listening to the chat 
of his companions, and if he ever spoke, the tone 
was so subdued as to be inaudible amid the bois- 
terous conversation of his boon companions. 
Having no kindred in this land of his adoption, 
he never was known to mingle in any society sava 
such as he met at the City Hotel table, and with 
that his limited desires seemed fully satisfied. 

Hollingsworth, a third notable in this set, was 
an enigma to every one unacquainted with the 
man and his history. In appearance he was 
shrivelled and pinched, and had grown old and 
infirm in the hotel of which he had become a per- 
manent fixture. For years he never left the 
house, and found occupation in seK-imposed du- 
ties which he never neglected. Possessed of 
abundant means he denied himself no comfort 
or luxury, yet he seemingly relied upon the pro- 
prietors with the simplicity of a child, and called 
upon them at all times as though he were the re- 
cipient of their bounty. The reading-room was 
his special care and hobby; the newspapers 
claimed his undivided attention. Up betimes in 
the morning, he carefully filed each paper as 
thrown in by the carrier, in its appropriate place j 
all, save one, and that one was the young, rollick- 
ing Herald, which the old fellow slyly secured in 
the hope that it might contain some sweet morsel 
of scandal with which to regale the chosen circle 



K.YICKERBOCKER LIFE, 49 

at their morning meal. The evening journals re- 
ceived the same consideration at his hands; while 
during the day he occupied himself in smoothing 
any crumpled sheet which had been carelessly 
tossed about. This simple task was his only oc- 
cupation for many years, and was not whoHy 
relinquished untH he had become too feeble from 
advanced age to quit his apartment. At times he 
was inchned to be chatty, and on a fine afternoon 
he presented a picture of calm content, as seated 
on the front stoop backed by the presence of the 
gay Colonel, he regaled himself by inspecting the 
panorama of fashion which filed past the door. 



CHAPTEK FIFTH. 

Captain Barker, another prominent character 
in this old-fashioned gi'oup, will be readily re- 
called. He was a large, heavily-built man, 
scrupulously neat and methodical in his sable 
attire, and withal so grave and dignified in his 
bearing that he would have proved a treasure to 
the most straight laced sect in Christendom. 
When actively engaged in the personal happiness 
of discussing the delicacies of the cuisine he some- 
times betrayed the fact that even he was afflicted 
by terrestrial weaknesses ; nay, the fact was al- 
most established beyond doubt when with flushed 
visage he called for a further supply of Harmony 
Amontillado; but, aside from these occasional 
moments of forgetfulness, he was apparently 
absorbed in some grand scheme having in view 
the amelioration of his race at large. He prob- 
ably had no nearly allied kindred, for, though 
rich, no one seemed to claim relationship. For 
hours he would sit almost motionless at one of 
the reading-room windows, apparently uncon- 
scious of the bustle without ; and when casually 
addressed he would respond with a patronising 
air, which had the efifect of bringing the conver- 
sation to an abrupt termination. The Captain 
affected to disbelieve the post-prandial yarns of 
the Colonel, and to despise the frivolous jokes ha 

50 



LAST DA YS OF KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 51 

habitually indulged in ; he even now and then 
exchanged glances of deep disgust with the 
placid Holingsworth, yet it was by no means in- 
frequent that the deep bass guffaw of the solemn 
Barker stimulated the laughter of these ancient 
revellers. 

The Trans- Atlantic packet ships, which sailed 
twice each month for European ports, were ob- 
jects of the greatest importance, and, as a matter 
of course, their commanders were rated as far 
above men in the ordinary walks of life. These 
personages had made our clippers the pride of 
the city, and as we loved to call it, the envy of 
the maritime powers of the Old World. Marshall, 
Holdridge, Cartoff, Johnston, Lines, Ainsworth, 
Funk and their confreres, were men in whom 
every confidence was reposed, at a time when 
the passage to Europe was not the holiday jaunt 
it is to-day, in this age of floating steam palaces. 
Then the captains were the chosen guardians to 
whose care were committed the invalid wife, the 
timid daughter, the infirm parent, compelled to 
risk the perils of a long uncertain voyage in 
search of health, or from other cause of dire ne- 
cessity, and so momentous a step was the voyage 
then considered that relations to the third and 
fourth remove flocked to the dock to bid a tear- 
ful adieu to the adventurers. Many of the cap- 
tains made the City Hotel their headquarters 
when in port, and their company was eagerly 
sought by the veteran band. They were all on 
the ''qui vive" when a fresh arrival was an- 
nounced from Sandy Hook, and they would pro- 
ceed in a body to the Battery to obtain the first 



52 LAST DA YS OF 

glimpse of some l:ooii companion wlio Lad been 
charged 'vnth a momentous commission to pro- 
cui'e some gastronomical luxury which was 
anxiously awaited. On the second iloor of the 
hotel there was a spacious and somewhat preten- 
tious apartment, called the Ladies* Dining Room, 
primarily devoted to the use of families who were 
traveling or such ladies as were visiting the City 
for a limited stay. Its high arched ceihng was 
more than usually grand, and it was decorated 
with three glass chandeliers deemed marvels of 
extravagance. Dancing was indulged in to a 
very moderate extent in New York; the pastime 
was discountenanced by the church, and if not 
condemned as absolutely improper, the majority 
who valued repose, and had no peculiar longing 
for lectures on immodest levity, chose to forego 
any partici^^ation in the mazy dance, which con • 
sisted at the best only of a humdrum cotiUion 
with occasional indulgence in the excitement of 
the Spanish dance, which would now be con- 
sidered about as exhilarating as would be a glass 
of insipid orgeat to an inveterate toper. As a 
matter of course with such a state of affairs in 
the dancing line, ball rooms were few, and as 
the Ladies' Dining was both central and its 
surroundings eminently respectable, it was on 
rfvre occasions converted into a " mlon de dance" 
These decorous assemblages were not denom- 
inated Balls, but were announced as Fublicks, 
a queer idea of somebody, for they were not 
public in any sense, the attendance being limited 
to the pupils, male and female, of John Char- 
raaud, ihe Dancing MaMer of New York for more 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 53 

tlian half a centuiy; and their much respected 
parents, who came not only to watch with pride 
the graceful undulation of their offspring, but 
also to see to it that no levity was indulged in. 
For years Charruaud used this room for instruc- 
tion ; in fact, up to the time when he built his 
celebrated ball room on "White Street between 
Church and Chappie Streets, on the very borders 
of civilization. This enterprise was at the time 
deemed extra-hazardous, so far as speculation 
was concerned, but the Professor lived and grew 
rich in his vocation long years after the cit}^ had 
swept past his advanced step; he saw the neigh- 
borhood in which his hobby was built rise, flour- 
ish and decay, and his pet assembly room become 
a dog pit, w^here nightly assembled the scum of 
European vagabondism. 

This useful dining room occasionally was hked 
for concert pui-poses by artists from abroad, 
who by some accident had gleaned the import- 
ant information that there were dollars in New 
York. Among those wdio came to test this fact 
was Henry Kussell, an Enghsh Jew, who gave a 
series of very successful entertainments at the 
City Hotel. Educated musicians of the time 
pronounced him a humbug, but his off-hand man- 
ner and peculiar style of song took with the 
pubUc, and he left our shores with a w^ell-filled 
purse. His voice was of very limited compass, 
and he introduced a peculiar order of ballad 
admirably adapted to its peculiarities, and 
claimed to be the composer of the music. Prom- 
inent among his most popular songs were '' AVind 
of the Winters Night," "The Ivv Green," "The 



54 LAST DAYS OF 

Maniac," " Come, Brothers, Arouse," and " Wood- 
man Spare that Tree." " Woodman Spare that 
Tree" was composed by George P. Morris, at 
the time a Hterary, mihtary, society notability of 
the city, and, moreover, in connection with Theo- 
dore S. Fay and N. P. WilHs, he was the editor 
of the IliiTor, the standard weekly of the North. 
Morris was human, and not a little elated by the 
popularity of his song, and therefore paid great 
court to the vocalist who was the means of biing- 
ing it so prominently before the pubHc, and, as a 
consequence, poet and singer frequently met at 
entertainments, for this Kussell became quite a 
lion in a certain cu'cle. On one occasion, when 
both were present. Captain Maryatt chanced ta 
be a guest, and Eussell was in\?ited to favor the 
assemblage with the then popular ballad. As he 
was singing the closing stanza with great pathos 
the distingtinguished novehst approached the 
piano and placed before him the following ad- 
ditional verse, written in pencil: 

"Lady, give me tea, 

And I will make a bow; 
In yoiitli it pleased me, 

And I do love it now; 
'Twas my old mother's hand 

That poured it from the pot; 
Pray, lady, let it stand 

For it is d d hot." 

The laugh went round as Kussell closed. The 
good-natured poet's pride was deeply wounded, 
and the genial, mirthful Maryatt saw too late that 
he had touched our military laureate in a tender 
spot. 

Jennings and Willard were the well-known 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 55 

proprietors of this far-famed City Hotel. Willard 
was the prominent partner so far as the guests 
were concerned. His station was in the office, 
where from sunrise to midnight he was ever faith- 
ful at his post. So marvelous was his activity of 
mind and body that his complex duties of host, 
clerk, book-keeper, cashier, bar-keeper, and 
heaven only knows what besides, were bustled 
through, not only with apparent ease but with 
the most -unruffled good nature. His world lay 
within the walls of the City Hotel, as will be 
abundantly illustrated by a simple but well au- 
thenticated anecdote. Billy Niblo, long known 
to fame by his connection with the prominent 
amusements of New York, had resolved to aband- 
on his Pine Street "coffee house," and to seek 
his fortune by opening a suburban place for re- 
freshment and entertainment. Many of his old 
down-town customers were invited to be present 
at the opening of the new garden, and among 
them several who were residents at the City 
Hotel. They accepted Niblo's courtesy and de- 
termined that Willard should make one of their 
number on the appointed evening. With his 
accustomed politeness he did not positively de- 
cline, so when the time arrived he was duly 
waited upon and notified of their readiness to 
start. He smiled his acquiesence, and began 
fidgeting and bustling around the office, looking^ 
first on this shelf and then in that cupboard, but 
evidently without meeting; with the object of his 
anxious search. At last, giving up in despair, 
he announced to his friends that for many years 
he bad not been the owner of a hat, and that 



56 LAST DAYS OF 

some one hari felonious!}^ abstracted an old beaver 
wliich had long lain around awaiting the advent 
of its rightful owner. Fortunately this unusual 
predicament could easily be adjusted, for Charles 
St. John, the celebrated hatter, was directly op- 
posite, and soon supphed the required article, 
and if still alive will tell of his great surprise 
when informed that Willard was going out. A 
hat was procured, and the triumphant party 
sallied forth in company with the best known 
man in' the city, but who, strange to relate, would 
have been compelled to inquire his way if he had 
l3een placed by himself a stone's throw from the 
City Hotel. Willard was of short, compact stat- 
ure; had a well-moulded head, thickly covered 
with short cropped, wiry grey hair, small quick 
twinkling eyes, that seemed never at rest. Of an 
active, cheerful disposition, he had a ready reply 
to any question, and greeted each new arrival 
with an assuring smile of welcome. Between 
him and the traveling public there seemed to 
exist a bond of sympathetic freemasonry-. The 
secret of this lay in his wonderful memory; a 
face once seen, a name once scanned on the 
register seemed to be indehbly fastened upon 
his mind, and the many stories related of him 
bearing upon this pecuhar tiait had great found- 
ation in truth. One well authenticated instance 
will suffice as an illustration. A gentleman, with 
nothing peculiar in person, name or position to 
fix his identity, had been a transient guest of the 
house, but owing to the serious illness of a favor- 
ite child, his stay had been ]3rolonged many days 
beyond his anticipations, and on the convalea- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 57 

cence of the patient he had paid his bill and left 
for his distant home. Nothing more; he did not 
even remember that Willard had exchanged with 
him any other than the most ordinary civilities. 
After an absence of more than five years business 
called him once more to the city, and with carpet 
bag in hand he stood face to face with Willard 
awaiting his turn to put down his name and to 
be assigned an apartment. Ere he had uttered 
a word or given the slightest sign of recognition 
the traveler was astounded by: How are you, 

Mr. ? Hope your boy recovered ! Glad 

to see you again ! Show this gentleman to his 
old room, No. — . The deed was done. The 
rise in that traveler's self esteem was great, and 
Willard had added one more to his long line of 
admirers. 

We of to-day have a trite saying " &uch a maii^ 
hnows how to keep a hotel.'' It would have applied 
to Willard in every particular save one — ^Willard 
had not a mean hair in his bushy locks. 

Chester Jennings was the unseen, but by no 
means the unimportant partner in the manage- 
ment of the hotel. His quiet duties were to pro- 
vide supplies and to superintend the details from 
cellar to garret. He was a tall, sHght, serious 
man, who went about his daily routine apparently 
as uninterested as a stranger. Both proprietors, 
fortunately or otherwise, were bachelors, and all 
the responsibility of engaging and controlling 
chambermaids devolved upon Maiy, who was 
known from Maine to Georgia as the efficient 
adjutant-general of Chester Jennings, while the 
ancient Thomas, who locked the front door at 



58 LAST DA YS OF KXICKERBOCKER LIFE. 

midnight, and took supreme command, exercised 
a restraining supervision over the baggage, boot 
and fire boys of the establishment. If there was 
marked disobedience either above or below the 
culprit was reported to Mr. Jennings, when the 
simple order " Go to Mr. Willard," was the sent- 
ence of dismissal from which there was no ap- 
peal. In the dining-room Jennings was com- 
mander-in-chief, and the silent clock-work move- 
ments of his subordinates might be imitated to 
advantage in many modern estabhshments where 
pompous head waiters strut about in imitation of 
the guests who Avere present to meet Mr. Samuel 
Weller " when he partook of the i>oiree prepared 
in his honor by the ' Select Footmen of Bath.' " 
At what special hour Jennings and AVillard 
held business conferences was a m^'stery to the 
earliest riser as well as to the last one who retired 
when the old porter took formal possession. 
Certain it was they were in perfect accord, for 
nothing ever occurred in or about the City Hotel 
to mar the comfort of its many guests. 



CHAPTER SIXTH. 

In tlie immediate vicinity of the City Hotel 
there still remained some few i)ri\ ate residences, 
though the majority of the buildings had been 
changed into shops or stores, for at the time 
there were but few places of business worthy to 
be designated as warehouses, and they were 
adjacent to the East River, where all the shipping 
of the port was moored. Abraham Bininger & 
Son, the most extensive retail grocers in town, 
occupied a store on the block above, not far re- 
moved from which was the jewelry establishment 
of Marquand & Co. with an immense gilt eagle 
over the door, the book store of Edw^ard Long, 
Milhau's pharmacy, Rushton's drug store, etc. 
Offices had not become numerous. Lawyers did 
not at the time constitute a formidable body, 
while middle men, or brokers, as they are now 
termed, and who have become so numerous in 
every branch of business or industry, were un- 
known, for men in their transactions met face to 
face. Real estate brokers, whose offices are now 
seen on every thoroughfare, and who are so 
crowded together on Pine, Cedar, Liberty and 
Nassau Streets that men marvel by what hidden 
process so many eke out a subsistence, were 
represented by only one firm of any note, and 
even Anthony J. Bleecker & Co.. of No. 5 Broad 



60 LAST DAYS OF 

Street, would liave had but a slim income if aU 
their resoui'ces had been derived from commis- 
sions on real estate sales. The office of Register, 
now one of the most lucrative in the peoples' gift, 
was a one horse affair, of little importance. The 
land speculation of 1835 was the entering wedge 
for brokers; they then began to thrive on paper 
projects; imaginary cities were sold and resold 
for notes payable, but their backs had to be 
covered with endorsements to ensure the slight- 
est consideration at the banks. 

The sanctum of the lawyer had its pine, baize 
covered table, on wliich were seen in most ad- 
mirable disorder, a grey stone ink stand, a plenti- 
ful supply of stubby quill pens, a pad of red 
blotting paper, a boxwood sand box, a meagre 
scattering of settled cases tied with red tape, 
pitched here and there, as a cheap mode of adver- 
tisement ; a few nnpainted pine boxes placed one 
upon the other as a makeshift for a book-case; 
two or thi'ee chairs of divers patterns and degrees 
of dilapidation; a carpetless floor begrimed with 
ink and dust. This cheerful abode of legal lore 
was generally on the second floor back, on some 
side street, and was dimly lighted by a single 
window, which had long needed the attention of 
Aunt Chloe, who did the chores and sold apple 
and cranberry tarts at a penny a piece on the 
doorstep. 

Insurance companies have always been a little 
" uppish " in their ideas. Even in Knickerbocker 
times the president and directors of the " Non- 
Combustible " evinced positive aversion to going 
up stairs. They had a hankering for an imposing 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 61 

office, easy of access, wliere the Board would be 
proud to meet and partake of crackers and cheese 
on their all important occasions, when the same 
set were to be elected over again, always pro- 
vided they were all alive, and, in case of death, 
when the survivors could unite as one man in 
depositing the mantle of responsibility upon the 
shoulders of the next of kin to the departed co- 
dii'ector. Before iDsurance companies had grown 
so hig or brown stone fronts were in vogue, or 
elevators were invented, the prominent e(iu\t' 
dblea were in the habit of leasing some old family 
mansion in the business ward, and using the fine 
roomy parlors with their solid mahogany doors, 
their high marble mantelpieces, and their im. 
posing brass grates and fenders, for their offices- 
The desks and railings in the front parlor, the 
public room, were made of stained pine, but what 
particular wood the artist had attempted to 
imitate the artist himself alone could tell. The 
tint was usually of a reddish hue, and by common 
consent was called cherry. Conspicuous in the 
insurance office was the indispensable iron chest. 
This formidable safety contrivance was made of 
wood covered with straps of sheet ii'on, crossing 
each othe^ at right angles and secured by means 
of immense wrought iron knobs, and in the mul- 
tiplicity of these unsightly bulges lay its intrinsic 
value. When duly locked this important affair 
was considered an impregnable fortress. It 
would, however, have offered but slight resistance 
to modern instruments in the hands of men who 
were impelled to personally inspect the valuables 
it was supposed to contain. However, in its day 



62 LAST DAYS OF 

it fully answered all the requirements of a lock 
up, for burglars were few, and they rarely dis- 
turbed the slumbers of " Old Hays " and his 
leather capped guardians. Old Hays ! The name 
brings vividly to recollection that veteran terror 
to evil-doers of every grade, sex and age, for 
even little children would on the instant stop 
their romping and tearing when grandmother 
announnced the oft-repeated thi eat, "Old Hays 
will be after you." Jacob Hays, the father of a 
family of sons who have for years occupied a 
prominent position in the financial circles of New 
York, was high constable and factotum in our 
criminal court. He was commissioner, superin- 
tendent, inspector, captain, sergeant, detective 
and patrolman combined, and on this individual- 
ity the Knickerbocker rehed for security to per- 
son and property. Old Hays spotted and caught 
the malefactor, and Dickey Eiker, the venerable 
Recorder, stamped the act as just and proper by 
consigning the miscreant to prison with simple 
statement, "you know you are guilty, and you 
must suffer some." 

In those old-fashioned times, if the midnight 
prowler was apprehended, his doom was certain. 
The naked law was enforced, the prescribed judg- 
ment pronounced, and the sentence carried out 
to the letter. Perhaps the thieves and their ac- 
complices were poor, but certain it is the modern 
Shyster, with his stay, straw bail, and impertinent 
sharp practice was not at hand to give the aid of 
his acquirements in legal lore; but above all, the 
rabble horde had not attained to that high politi- 
cal position now a sure guarantee against punish- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 63 

ment for the most revolting crimes on the calen- 
dar. The person of Jacob Hays was most re- 
markable, and unless he was disguised for some 
sj)ecial detective enterprise, his identity was un- 
mistakable. His elongated body and stubby, 
disproportioned legs were surmounted by a head 
so large that it almost amounted to a deformity. 
His featui'es, of the Jewish type, were prominent 
aod striking; his sharp, deep set black eyes were 
almost hidden by heavy over-hangmg eye-brows, 
which had the eifect of imparting a forbidding, 
sinister aspect to a face which, if analyzed in de- 
tail, would have been pronounced intellectually 
fine. By nature active and shrewd, he was en- 
dowed with almost superhuman energy and pow- 
ers of endurance. His varied exploits of cunning 
and daring formed one of the topics of the day, 
they were recited with undisguised wonder, and 
by passing from mouth to mouth they of course 
lost none of their chivalric details. The assistants 
of Old Hays had light duties to perform, and as 
they were for the most part cartmen who were 
actively employed during the day, it was not 
surprising they should now and then take a quiet 
snooze while playing the extra role of watchman 
at night. Their peaceful slumbers, enjoyed on 
some slanting cellar door, were seldom disturbed, 
and then only by some party of youngsters who 
had put "too strong a slick" in their lemonade, 
and under the influence of this departure were 
less cautious than usual in the removal of signs 
and the "wrenching off" of brass knockers as 
these latter were considered rare trophies as un- 
mistakable evidences of a dare-devil spirit. These 



64 LAST DAYS OF 

desperate breaches of the peace were even over* 
looked by the kind-hoarted, leather-capped cart- 
men, and it was only when the boys were " real 
sassy," that they were locked up all night in the 
watch house, and the next morning led as cul- 
prits before the much dreaded "Dickey," who 
invariably in addition to the small fine imposed, 
" to make them suffer some" scolded them with all 
the earnest vim of an irate but loving and weU- 
meaning grandmother. Some ol these very cart- 
men who began life as the humble but responsible 
guardians of slumbering Gotham, by dint of sys- 
tematic labor and prudent exj^enditure, were 
enabled to drop their long brown linen shirts and 
overalls for a more extended field of usefulness ; 
and not a few of their descendants who inherited 
the down town homestead with the extra lots at- 
tached upon which were built the stalls for horses 
and cows, now rule with high pretensions, and by 
their entertainments and costly display of rare 
exotics have become notables on our most fash- 
ionable avenues. 

Wall street is Wall street still, so far as its name 
is concerned. Under Knickerbocker rule it was 
known as the spot where money changers met, 
where commerce in its hmited ramifications was 
the theme, and where men of substance found in- 
vestment for their surplus means. The few banks 
then needed for deposit and the purposes of le- 
gitimate business were there, as was also a small 
knot of bankers and brokers, who were the inno- 
cent forerunners of that busy, restless throng 
which now surges and seethes, as if the " day of 
doom'' had come, and each one had "to hand in his 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 65 

chips" when the new Trinity clock strikes three. 
The banks had offices fitted up with the simple 
appointments needed for the transaction of a 
moderate business. The few clerks employed 
had abundant yawning time between breakfast 
and dinner, for they were not furnished with the 
expensive lunch so indispensable to their gentle- 
manly successors, who are ensconced behind elab- 
orately wrought black walnut desks, and who can 
only be distantly gazed at through polished plate 
glass as they recline on their soft revolving chaii's. 
The paying teller was not so pressed that he had 
no time to rectify mistakes, but generally found 
leisure for a friendly chat with his customers. 
The cashier had a nook of his own, from which 
he could not only see what was going on, but 
could also be seen and talked to on business with- 
out first obtaining the permission of some stal- 
wart darkey, who now, Cerberus like, guards the 
entrance to that all important personage. Busi- 
ness transactions were then conducted in a slow 
and cautious manner; men laid their plans ahead, 
so that the cashier was not unfrequently applied 
to for the promise of a discount at some still dis- 
tant day, as the unprovided for indebtedness had 
begun to prey upon the mind of the applicant, 
and warning him to make prej^arations to meet 
the maturing note. Credit in a great measure 
supplied the place of capital to the merchant and 
tradesman, and so long as credit was untarnished, 
disparity of means was unheeded by money lend- 
ers, and the requisite supx^ly could be obtained 
at the banks without the intervention of middlemen, 
who now Hve luxuriously upon commissions ex- 



00 LAST DA YS OF 

torted from necessitous borrowers. The presidents; 
of these useful banks held their heads deservedly- 
high among then* fellow citizens, for the honor was 
conferred upon men who by their success in busi- 
ness had proven themselves worthy to be the 
trusted custcdians of the property and interests 
of others. So they were deemed excusable for 
any little vanity they might display by rapping 
the pavement rather hard with their gold-headed 
canes, as they walked with dignified tread through 
Broadway after theu' responsibilities had ceased 
for the da3\ The salary and emoluments of the 
position were insignificant, but the distinction 
conferred by the selection was the grand incen- 
tive to its attainment. The banking firms of 
Prime, Ward & King and Brown Brothers were 
then almost alone in their calling, as but few in- 
dividuals came into the market with private Eu- 
ropean bills of exchange, as the demand would 
not have warranted the enterprise, and Brown 
Brothers had gradually grow^n into this peculiar 
branch of trade through their extensive dealings 
with British manufacturers as dry goods commis- 
sion merchants, in the prosecution of which they 
had gained the nucleus of their princely fortunes, 
and formed their world-wide financial connec- 
tions. The few brokers who congregated in Wall 
street had desks in basement rooms, which, with 
but rare exceptions, impressed the passer by with 
an idea that struggling poverty was the lot of the 
occupant, who was striving to eke out an exist- 
ence by the frequent turning of a very small cap- 
ital, on the plan of Franklin's nimble sixjDence. 
In the windows of two or three of the most prom- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 67 

inent of these basements were to be seen packages 
of the bills of country banks, then designated as 
uncurrent money, from the fact that they were 
not receivable at par over the counters of our city 
institutions, though they were considered a per- 
fect legal tender in trade by retail dealers in pay- 
ment for family suj^plies. This wild cat money 
was procui-ed by the brokers at a stipulated rate 
of discount, and resold by them at a slight ad- 
vance to mechanics and manufacturers, who in 
turn purchased it and paid it out at par to their 
employees. Small stacks of foreign and domes- 
tic coin lay side by side with these paper tokens, 
and these jointly represented the stock in trade; 
in other words, the window sill held the entire 
capital of the concern. Over the entrance, "Ex- 
change Office" was posted, and a minute tin slab 
stuck in one corner of the window announced to 
the public the name of the proprietor. 

Transactions in securities were few and insig- 
nificant in amount, mainly for investment. The 
greed for speculation had not tainted the plod- 
ding habits of business men, wrapt up as they 
were in their peculiar calling, satisfied with lim- 
ited credit and contented with moderate gains. 
The railway and mining mania was unborn. The 
stocks and mortgage bonds, which now form the 
staple of the gigantic operations which daily, nay 
hourly, make and unmake scores of des23erate 
speculators, were not in existence ; they had not 
drawn into the seething cauldron of Wall Street 
wealth from every corner of the civilized globe. 
When to these countless millions was added oui 
inflated currency at the opening of the rebellion, 



6b LAST DA YS OF 

the spirit of speculation pervaded all classes. 
Men became mad in their unnatural desire of 
becoming suddenly rich, and Wall Street became 
the magnet of attention. Men of all ages and 
conditions, leaving homes and former avocations, 
flocked thither, confident of realizing in a brief 
period a fortune, which in the slow route of trade 
would consume a lifetime. " Brains, not labor," 
was the motto emblazoned on the banner of the 
da3^ The more unscrupulous the operator, the 
more assured seemed the success. Ilrnor, hon- 
esty, self-esteem — all the higher qualities which 
should attach to mankind -vn ere thrown aside in 
this wild chase after gain. Up to this period a 
comparatively small number of brokers earned a 
fair subsistence by executing commissions at the 
Stock Exchange. The community at large, and 
even the denizens of the cit}', thought little and 
cared less whether the bulls or bears were in the 
ascendant, as the daily transactions at the Board 
were of so limited a nature as to have no effect 
on the general money market. Thousands of 
well-to-do men lived and died without even puz- 
zhng their brains about the ups and downs of the 
stock list. The great change came, as it were, 
" in the twinkling of an eye" From early morn 
till dark the street devoted to stock transactions 
was filled with an excited crowd of the new found 
worshippers of Mammon. Old brokers were 
overwhelmed with commissions, new ones by 
hundreds rushed to the scene of excitement, and 
soon found ample employment in the increasing 
demand for their services. The din of voices 
could not drown the babel of tongues, for all the 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 69 

nationalities of the globe seemed to be repre- 
sented in the surging throng. The shrewd Israel- 
ite, the cunning Yankee, the philosophic German, 
the mercurial Frenchman, the dignified Spaniard, 
the indolent It>alian, the phlegmatic John Bull, 
even the spectacled blue stocking was present. 
Millions had become the goal. Dollars, numbered 
by thousands only, were too insignificant to arrest 
attention. Supplies of stock were quickly fur- 
nished to satisfy the greedy man of speculation ; 
schemes equal in variety to the famed South Sea 
Bubble were promptly matured. Mines of gold, 
silver^ copper, even of humble lead were oj^por- 
tunely discovered. Oil spurted up in every 
ravine and floated on every creek. New railroads 
were surveyed, organized, built only in iiiiagina- 
tion, and were represented by stock, which was 
sold and resold before the printer's ink became 
dry, Avhich was the only certificate of theii' value. 
Fools wondered, thinking men pondered, yet all 
plunged into this whirling torrent of reckless 
gambling. The mechanic, the artizau, even the 
methodical bookkeeper was infected with the con- 
tagion, and roused to desperate deeds of venture, 
as bending over his humdrum ledger thus reason- 
ing to himself, " No one can wonder that I, an 
humble bookkeeper, eking out a bare existence 
on a salary which is daily lessening in intrinsic 
valae, should be lured by such a prospect of com- 
petency ; many a lucky acquaintance has tmtted 
me about my timidity and laughed at my fears. 
Even this I could have withstood, but the fact 
stares me in the face, that gold is two hundred ; 
iu other words, my paper dollar received as salary 



70 LAST DA YS OF 

is becomiDs: daily of less value, ancl 1113^ employer 
is apparently so obtuse as not to perceive that it 
is impossible for me to exist on a representacion 
of money so nearly approaching to rags. I will 
venture my small savings as margin in Wall Street, 
and become a man among men. What should I 
buy? whose advice shall I seek? were my cogita- 
tions as I hastened to add my little self and my 
snail capital to the v.i^d confusion that reigned in 
and about the Stock Exchange. My destination 
was soon reached, but for awhile I forgot my 
errand, forgot myself. ' An eighth ' — ' a quarter * 

' three eights ' — ' buyer three ' — ' seller three ' 

' regular ' — ' cash ' — * take it ' — ' sold ' — ' broker 

up,' these and other equally cabalistic terms were 
bellowed from lungs which would have drowned 
the fi-antic yells of a Sixth Ward fire company 
during a most exciting race." 

" The crowd was dense, I tried to push through, 
I tried to back out, and was at last compelled to 
follow in the wake of a practiced habitue, who doubt- 
less having money to borrow or contract to com- 
plete, was elbowmg a passage through the serried 
ranks. AVhen on the point of giving up in despair, I 
chanced to meet an acquaintance; was introduced 
to his broker, deposited my hard-earned margin, 
and by his advice bought " one hundred Erie." 
The important end was accomplished, I was in- 
terested in stocks; on the high-road to fortune, 
and no longer a si:<bject for the jokes of my asso- 
ciates. In that one moment I had foreve;*, as I 
thought, discarded drudgery and ''make or 
break" had become my motto. I hastened back 
to the counting-house and with an assumed com- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 71 

t 

posiire stood once more face to face with my " 
duty. Dull work was tlie ledger on that day; ore 
hundred Erie appeared at every footing, and 
stocks were everywhere about me as I nervously 
waited for the hour of freedom to come that I 
might hasten to learn the result of my ventui-e. 
.The time at length rolled by, and I found myself 
unconsciously on a dead run, in company with 
hundreds of others who were impelled by the 
same mad impulse. "Market strong. Erie, up 
one per cent.," was the reply to my anxious in- 
quiry. One hundred dollars, a whole month's 
salary, made in a few short hours. To-morrow 
may double, triple, perhaps quadruple that. For- 
tune Hghted up my future. Man naturally seeks 
congenial companionship. After a hearty meal 
I almost flew to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, then the 
night rendezvous of the restless spirits who knew 
no day, no night, no rest in their pursuit of lucre, 
and who each evening transferred to that famed 
hotel their bewildering traffic, leaving Wall 
Street for the time to rest in solitary gloom. 
Here the busy telegraph was continuously at 
work, adding fuel to the fire. Battles lost or 
won; recognition by England or France; McClel- 
len flanked, etc., were circulated " thick and fast, 
like lightning from the Summer cloud," by Bull 
or Bear as interest dictated. To me this manoeu- 
vreing was a sealed book in all else save when 
Erie was the immediate interest. It had already 
become a part of my being; was mingled with my 
brandy; it added to the solace of my segar, as 
after midnight I dragged myself wearily home- 
ward to my couch, on which 1 threw myself with 



72 LAST DAYS OF 

Care for my bedfellow, and passed the niglit with 
coniiicting rumors pictured in my dreams. Morn- 
ing dawned and I dreaded the suspense which 
awaited me during business hours. I dared not 
relinquish my situation so was compelled to per- 
form my duties with m}^ accustomed regularity; 
but above all must be careful to give no clue by, 
which my emjoloyers could possibly susj)ect me 
of having embarke-d in speculation, against which 
tlie}^ had so repeatedly and so earnestly warned 
nie. During the day I had opportunities to hear 
reports of my darling Erie, and great was my 
dread lest I should betray my unbounded joy 
when the announcement was casually made tha^ 
Erie had ''gone up' five per cent "Five hundred 
dollars ahead," it was almost too much for my 
poor crazy brain to withstand, without giving 
vent to my enthusiasm. On my release from the 
day's thraldom, the glad tidings were confirmed 
by my broker. Better sell and realize w^as the 
monition of my timid, ruitutored judgment. 
The market is strong, says the Stock List. 
"Anything is a purchase," is shouted by the crowd 
of knowing ones and eager buyers qyj their bids, 
and snatch up each offered lot. Ill wait. What 
is m}^ judgment worth when compared with those 
of men who make stocks their study, and besides 
my banker assures me he will watch my Erie as 
if it was his own. I decided to wait at any rate 
until to-morrow. To-morrow came and passed; a 
whole week elapsed and the market was still 
buoyant; the Bulls were jubilant, I being one of 
the named fraternity was in ecstacies of delight; 
my margin wns more than dollars — a whole 3'ears' 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 73 

salary acquired in one short week. But with all 
my delight I was worn with continuous anxiety. 
I had become one of the restless, sleepless 
throng. Erie and I were one ; all else an uninter- 
esting blank, and I firmly resolved to sever the 
connection, to part with my idol. Nay, in my ex- 
citement vow^ed I w^ould sell it, even though Wall 
Street jeer and tauntingly rejDroach me for my 
folly. Fortified by this resolution, I calmly pre- 
sented mj'self within the Broker's Sanctum armed 
with a written order to sell at market prices. 
The room was mil; clerks were driving like mad- 
men to compare the business of the hour. Orders 
to buy were pouring in from all sides, among 
which my Erie was prominently named. Why 
should I sell that which so many are anxious to 
buy ? Like a flash my determination has altered 
and I mingled with the buzzing crowd that I 
might hear the flying rumors of the hour. The 
leading Bear of the street was largely short of 
Erie : — tomorrow his contracts mature — he cannot 
borrow^ the stock he will need — he will be com- 
pelled to buy it in the oj^en market — Erie must 
go u]3 twenty per cent, before his wants are sup- 
plied — such was the story I gleaned from Relia- 
ble Information. I did not then know the false- 
hearted jade, so tore up my order to sell and ex- 
citedly walked home, with a small fortune which 
I should clutch on the morrow, when this short 
operator would be obliged to pay me a fabulous 
profit on my speculation. Another dreamy night, 
" that bright dream was his last," my last, I 
should sa}^, for that eventful morning revealed to 
me one of the pit-falls which Keliable Information 



74 LAST DAYS OF 

digs to engiilf the unfortunate possessors of smaU 
margins who venture on the quick sands of Wall 
Street. The knowing ones, ^ho, like mj'self, had 
been ]30sted as to the events of the day, were 
early on hand to take advantage of the most op- 
portune moment in order to lealize the highest 
figures. The Erie which had been previously 
loaned to the great Bear was duly called in; and 
to the great surprise of the young Bulls was 
promptly delivered; his contracts all punctually 
met, but no stock had been bought. Soon as the 
shrewd game had been fully played, the street 
was flooded with stock. Mortgage Bonds had 
been quietl}' bought up and privately converted, 
and the confident Bulls found themselves loaded 
with a burthen too weighty to carry. The panic 
spread as one after another made fi-antic efforts 
to unload; " Sauve qui pent" soon became the 
order for getting out of Erie. I fortunately got 
oui, but that was all, for my little margin with its 
accrued earnings were swallowed up in the whirl- 
pool. I got out a wiser man, at least in this, and 
I would have xn.j limited experience engraved on 
the minds of everyone who dares to venture on 
untried speculation. To such I would say, 
*' Always sell when you have a profit, be it ever 
so small, and do not permit Reliable Information 
to induce you to wait until to-morrow. Capital 
makes information to suit its own ends, and sells 
it to such as dare speculate on small hard-earned 
margins." The bookkeeper's experience has been 
the lot of thousands, who, like him, were led 
astray by the fatal mirage and engulfed in irre- 
trievable ruin. But let us leave this sad digres- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 75 

sion and return to tlie peaceful Knickerbocker 
Wall Street, where liours of consultation and 
" considei-ing " were required before a share of 
etock was purchased. 

Lotteries were then legal enterprises, and the 
Exchange Office men were enabled to turn an 
honest penny by slyly furnishing'^ checks to their 
customers. This petty species of gambling, 
though approved by the Legislature, was looked 
upon with distrust by the stiff necked majority, 
and those who betrayed the weakness of habitu- 
ally trying their luck, had the boldness to face 
the music and openly purchase their selected 
combinations, though there was not the stigma 
attached which now compels the infatuated devo- 
tee of magic numbers to slink behind screens and 
to carefully conceal his illicit purchase from the 
lynx-eyed guardians of public morals. 

Aaron Clark, a most popular and highly re- 
spected Mayor of the city, was extensively en- 
gaged in this business, and his name and occu- 
pation were placed over his office door on the 
conspicuous south-west corner of Broadway and 
Park Place. Mr. Clark had many intimate 
friends among the stanchest piZ/ars, with whom he 
' was often seen in earnest consultation, and 
naughty little boys would sometimes tell " how 
they had picked up queer pieces of paper which 
Grandpa had accidentally dropped," and on re- 
turning the same had been quietly rewarded 
with a bright penny. 



CHAPTER SEVENTH. 

The old Tontine Society, thongli still nominally 
in existence, is rapidly approaching its final disso- 
lution, and is one of the last Hnks which bind the 
present with the past Knickerbocker days. This 
venerable association began in what will soon 
become a misty era. It was founded by a com- 
pany of merchants, and was incorporated by 
special act of Legislature near the close of the 
last century. Two hundred and three shares 
were subscribed for, at two hundred dollars each. 
With the proceeds, the lot on the northwest cor- 
ner of Wall and Water streets was purchased, and 
upon it the Original Coffee House was erected. 
According to the first clause in the articles of in- 
corporation it was to be used and kept as a coffee 
house, and for no other use and purpose whatso- 
ever, until the number of corjDorators should l)e, 
by death, reduced to seven ; at which period the 
property was to be divided among the survivors 
in fee simple, and the trust to cease. The coffee 
house proper has long since disappeared. Many 
years ago a change was effected in the original 
agreement, the building altered and leased for 
mercantile purposes, and the rents divided among 
the survivors in interest. There are but few now 
remaining among us who can remember when the 
Tontine Coffee House was a central landmark ? 



LAST DA YS OF KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 77 

but few who were present, when their grand- 
fathers convened within its walls to indulge in 
moderate conviviality and to talk over the reli- 
gious, political and commercial topics of the 
times. These worthies were not myths ; they 
carried into outdoor life the same dignified bear- 
ing, which insured them the unqualified respect 
of their individual families, and they exacted from 
their juniors the defference they claimed as the 
prerogative of gray hau's. They constituted them- 
selves a committee of general supervision ; in mat- 
ters of serious import their decisions were received 
as law, and public opinion was to a gi*eat extent 
based upon their approval. An old writer of 
eminence at the time, says : " Their conclusions 
were universally respected." In proof of which 
he instances their successful protest against a 
fashion of the period which was considered bur- 
thensome to the poor but respectable class of the 
community. " At the time it was the arbitrary 
custom to distribute indiscriminately expensive 
hnen scarfs at aU funerals, and many poor but 
worthy people were sorely pinched to provide 
this apparently necessary mark of respect for 
deceased relatives. Some prominent members of 
the Tontine Society called a meeting at the Coffee 
House to discuss this subject, at which nearly two 
hundred of those whose weight of character gave 
force to their decision, signed a pledge that they 
would abstain from the custom of supplying 
scarfs except to the dominie and the attending 
physician. Their prompt, decided action proved 
the death knell to this useless, oppressive fashion." 
But in matters of more vital import, when really 



78 LAST DAYS OF 

great public interests were at stake, a voice bag 
gone forth from the old Coffee House which was 
listened to, and the words of warning or counsel 
heeded throughout the length and breadth of the 
land. The final close of the Tontine Association 
must be near at hand, when the story of its life 
will be written and the ramifications of its influ- 
ence made public. Its records which spread over 
three-quarters of a centviry will form a most 
important social and commercial chapter in the 
history of New York. They should embrace the 
sayings and doings of many of the best and wisest 
men of their generation, whom the people de- 
lighted to honor, and whose memories will be 
cherished when their strong, shining qualities are 
gleaned from an authentic source. 

All the banks, insurance offices, with bankers 
and brokers even included, occupied but a very 
limited portion of Wall street ; indeed, most of 
them could find ample accommodation in one of 
the modern edifices which now line that crowded 
thoroughfare. Some private families still clung 
to their old-time houses, loth to tear themselves 
away from surroundings associated with the most 
tender ties ; but by far the larger majority of the 
homesteads had been converted into shops, as the 
rents, which could be obtained for business pur- 
poses, were deemed too extravagant for a mere 
domicile. Three or four hundred dollars would 
hire a first-class residence up in Dey or Fulton 
streets, while a hundred or two more added, 
landed the rising family in the aristocratic Park 
Place, among the Motts, Hones, Carters, Hagger- 
ties, Austins, Beekmans and Hosacks of the period. 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 79 

The Wall Street Presbyterian Church, presided 
over by Dr. Phillips, stood on the north side, be- 
tween Nassau street and Broadway, and held ita 
own until it was (" a Sabbath day journey ") re- 
moved from the majority of its communicants, 
when the property was sold at a high figui'e — say 
one-twentieth of the sum which would now be 
considered a bargain, and the dominie with his 
flock found refuge in the stone edifice on the cor- 
ner of Fifth avenue and Eleventh street, on the 
very outskirts of the fashionable boundary. Even 
there it is no longer safe, the Goths and Vandals of 
speculation are intrenching it on all sides, and it 
must soon give place to the hum of business or 
the din of revelry. 

In close proximity to the old church, two men, 
whose names have since become famous, laid the 
foundation of a pecuHar enterprise which has ex- 
panded into a wealthy and powerful corporation, 
whose stocks are daily quoted and watched on 
the Street. Harnden and Adams both started sin- 
gly and alone with but small capital, but each 
possessed indomitable will and was imbued with 
determined perseverance. In the beginning, for 
a considerable time, each was his own and only 
messenger, and a couple of carpet bags sufficed 
for the stowage of the express packages entrusted 
to their care. Boston in one direction and Phila- 
delphia in the other was the terminus of the 
route traversed, and three departures per week 
amply served the requirements of trade. So 
quiet was the start of this now over- shadowing 
monopoly that it was not until a wagon or two 
was brought into requisition, which were lettered 



80 LAST DAYS OF 

either as Adams' or Harnden's Express, that the 
majority of citizens were aware of its existence. 
The unparalleled success of this branch of indus- 
tr}^ is attributable to the strict honesty and un- 
deviating promptness which characterized its out- 
set, and to these are the present stockholders 
indebted for the vast patronage they now enjoy. 
Among the early employees of the Adams Express 
was a busy, lively lad, who was determined to 
make a living. He cried papers on the streets 
when that was a very precarious undertaking, 
but was ever ready to hold a horse or run an 
errand to earn a small gratuity. B}^ some fortui- 
tous circumstance this boy drifted under the 
quick eye of Adams, and upon due trial, he prov- 
ing to be both trustworthy and bright, became a 
fixture in the business. He grew with its growth 
and his mind kept pace and expanded with all 
the ramifications of its ever outstretching 
branches, and at a ripe middle age John Hoey is 
the competent, responsible and respected super- 
intendent of the great Adams Express, with 
which he has been associated without interrupt 
tion from its inception and his earliest boyhood. 
Each of the corners of Wall street, formed by 
its intersection with Broadway, was occupied as 
a fashionable tailor shop, the firms being How- 
ard, Keeler & Scofield and St. John & Toucey. 
Each had an extensive trade, both in and out of 
the city, founded upon the belief that the gar- 
ments they furnished were evey'lasting ; a great 
recommendation at a period when the fashions 
were not fickle, and a great coat or Spanish cloak 
was considered "good for best" during fifty Win- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 81 

ters and could then be cut up for common wear. 
Solid West of England cloths were in vogue, and 
tradition says, was so finely sewn and finished 
that it required houi's of labor and a shai-p knife 
to remote the nap from a single square inch. 
One of these '' time-defiera'' of a snuff brown 
shade, was seen last Winter on Broadway protec- 
ting a wealthy veteran of four score from the 
chiUing blasts. On hasty inspection no shade of 
giving way was perceptible; but there it was a 
monument of the past. Its angular back, straight, 
narrow sleeves, scant, stifi; rolling collar and lap- 
pel, long flowing tails, bearing unimpeachable 
testimony that it was no modern fi-aud, but was 
the genuine handwork of the veteran Howard, 
who long years since at a ripe old age ceased 
cutting both coats and capes. 

On the East side of Broadway, just South of 
Wall Street, there was a busy httle crib on the 
ground floor. Its windows were ornamented with 
geraniums and a number of cages whose im- 
prisoned inmates made the neighborhood cheer- 
ful with theii' melody. It was a barber shop; 
nothing more, nothing less. Custom in those 
days decided that the Fathers should shave them- 
selves, verily no sHght undertaking, for few 
allowed their whiskers to grow, and a moustache, 
to say the least, was damaging to credit; the 
dare-devil who had the audacity to sport one was 
surely denounced as an adventurer, and home- 
bred youth were warned to avoid his acquaint- 
ance. Most of the " ancients" wore their hair short 
at the top and powdered it freely, allowing their 
back hair to grow long, when it was stiffly braided. 



82 LAST DAYS OF 

This appendage was elegantly styled a pig-tail, a^ 
liberal rendering doubtless of the French "queue'* 
This ornament necessitated the employment of 
skilled labor for its proper adjustment. So the 
barber was patronized by the dignified patricians. 
The barber has been a privileged and courted 
character since the dawn of civilization; privi- 
leged to chatter, and courted for what in other 
men would be set down as too impertinent for 
endurance, and, strange to relate, patronized by 
old and young in proportion to his glibness of 
speech and fertility of imagination. The Dutch- 
man is conceded to be the most silent and phleg- 
matic specimen of our race, poor Lo not excepted; 
but let one of these taciturn Teutons adopt the 
trade of " shaver," and no sooner has he placed a 
man's head in position, wrapped the victim in a 
damp towel, slushed Jiis face with suds, and 
stropped the razor on the palm of his hand, than 
away goes his unruly member, popping off ques- 
tions, opinions, and declarations with a vim that 
would excite the French nation almost to the verge 
of revolution. The barber, as a rule, does not 
read the papers, for they are too slow and by far 
too circumscribed in detail to furnish the supply 
of entertainment needed by a tip-top tonsorial 
artist; he is therefore compelled to vigorously 
"pump" certain customers that he may admin- 
ister to some other the soothing strains of en- 
chanting scandal, and thus enable them to sur- 
vive the scraping ordeal. Maniort, the proprietor 
of The Knickerbocker Barber Shop, seemed 
specially created for his peculiar calling; a pohte, 
garrulous Frenchman, and ''par excellence" the 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 83 

most accomplished gossip in town. No modern 
extra Herald could beat him in gaining possession 
of the newest rumor, and it would take the most 
determined set of newsboys to disseminate it as 
expeditiously as he effected it through the various 
channels he had at command. The most minute 
"faux pas" affecting the male or female; even 
the slightest suspicion of a surmise that came 
into his net, was served that evening at every tea- 
table of note in Gotham, and at a moderate cost 
— six and a quarter cents, with a clean shave 
thrown in gratis. Eumor has it that Louis 
Napoleon and the jolly French barber were on 
peculiai' intimate terms while the former was a 
sojourner here; whether true or false, certain it 
is that when the Emperor was firmly established 
on his tijrone the mercurial scandal-monger fold- 
ed his tent and Hew away to the Gay Capital, 
where he had a more enlarged field and a grander 
patron foi his unsurpassed talent. 

Directly opposite the barber shop, on the 
corner of Kector Street, and overshadoAved by 
imposing Trinity, stood the original Grace 
Church, then as now the chosen shrine of tho 
" creme de la cremej' among that portion of so- 
ciety who especially affect the imposing ritual of 
Episcopacy. Doctor Wainwright was for many 
years its beloved pastor, than whom a more re- 
spected, genial. Christian gentleman never en- 
tered a New York pulpit. To attend service at 
Grace was eminently fashionable, although there 
were other places of worship in the city, whose 
congregations could boast of an equal amount of 
wealth and beauty. Still, both joung men and 



84 LAST DA YS OF 

women fancied there was an air of quiet gentility 
in and about it not to be met with elsewhere. 
The worthy rector was a passionate lover of music, 
and prided himself not a little on his judgment 
of the divine art and on the nicety of his criticism. 
As would most naturally follow in the wake of a 
taste so decided, the impressive chants were 
given at Grace in a perfected style not equalled 
by any choir in the city, which, of course, had 
the effect of attracting many to its portals on 
each succeeding Sabbath, who by virtue of bajD- 
tismal rites were looked upon as backsHders fi^om 
the original fold into which they had been un- 
consciously borne in puling infancy. This^ state 
of affairs gave rise to no inconsiderable amount 
of comment, and some sore heart-burnings on 
the part of zealous Reformed Dutch parents and 
friends w4io still clung to the monstrous nasal 
psalmod}^, to endure which had become a part 
and parcel of theii' existence. Miss Emma Gill- 
ingham was the leading lady of the efficient choir, 
whose rich tones had been cultivated by Sconcia; 
and she was not infrequently assisted by Charles 
E. Horn and Austin Phillips, two of the sweetest 
singers New York has ever heard. The aid 
afforded by these cultivated songsters was a 
powerful adjunct to the Doctor's polished efforts 
for the spread of Christianity, and Grace Church 
was always filled to its utmost cajjacity, while 
wealthy, pretentious Trinity, " the mother of ua 
all," who in these feverish, exciting times stiU 
each day tries to soothe Wall Street with her 
meUow chimes, could fitly be compared to " a 
banquet hall deserted." It certainly was the un- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIEE. B5 

seen and spiritual wliicli attracted, for the ex- 
terior of Old Grace presented nothing to com- 
mand attention even from " the stranger within 
our gates." A plain, square brick structure, with 
no turret, no steeple, not even the usual cross to 
designate its particular denomination, or to dis- 
tinguish it from an overgrown school house. At 
some period it had probably been painted white; 
but long exposure had imparted to its walls a 
dingy yellow tinge that was far from being agree- 
able to the eye. Nevertheless it was the church, 
and " I have attended Grace this morning,*' could 
not be uttered with a more satisfied air by a 
modern belle tricked out in all the furbelows of 
1871, than the same sentence was spoken hun- 
dreds of times fi-om beneath bonnets one of 
which would make headgear for the whole con- 
gregation of New Grace, if the gew-gaws with 
which they are ornamented could by any means 
be disjoensed with. 

Few of the thousands who daily pass in and 
out of our dilapidated crazy post-office* stop to 
give one thought as to the past history of the 
Yenera*ble pile now so rapidly approaching its 
final demolition. None have the leisure to make 
the enquiry, but should some stray visitor chance 
to pause and for a moment wonder for what 
special use it had originally been planned, he 
would have to tarry long before encountering 
one in the eager expectant throng of applicants 
for letters who could give him a satisfactory re- 
ply to his queries. 

The Middle Dutch Church, now the Post Office, 

*it must be borne in miirl that thig was written in 1871. 



86 LAST DAYS OF 

was one of the oldest and most noted places of 
worship on Manhattan Island. For some years 
prior to its transfer to the Government the asso- 
ciate ministers in charge were Drs. Brownlee, 
Knox and De Witt. The latter alone remains of a 
trio like whom, all things considered, will never 
again be convened in this city. This old build- 
ing was the last gathering place of a class who 
represented the past in its hard strict simphcity 
of worship, and was the connecting link between 
the old and new school in everything, religion 
not excepted. The masses in our midst have not 
the most remote idea of its quaint interior in 
former days. The entrance was fi'om Cedar 
Street, and the pulpit occupied that end of the 
building; that is, the entire space between the 
two doors of admission. This pulpit, so far as 
dimensions are concerned, would answer the 
purpose of a modern reception room. It was 
reached from either side by a flight of at least a 
dozen carpeted steps, ornamented by massive 
mahogany balusters. At the top of these stairs 
there was a door through which the Dominie 
entered; when that was closed after him, and the 
good man seated, he was most effectually hidden 
fi'om mortal eyes. 

Over this jDulpit was suspended what was 
called a sounding-board, a contrivance doubt- 
less intended to reverberate and re-echo the 
terrors of the law. A large square velvet 
cushion ornamented at each corner with heavy 
pendant tassels was the resting-place for the 
Bible. The pews were not modelled for ease, 
their straight, high backs and narrow seats were 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 87 

file ideal of discomfort; a lounging posture was 
an impossibility; when mounted on the seat no 
one but a long-limbed 'man could touch the floor; 
so the sufferings of women and children can be 
imagined. Bolt upright, eyes forward and limbs 
dangling was the order when once ensconced and 
the pew-door closed. Grandmother had a high 
cushion for her feet in warm weather, and a box 
made of wood and sheet iron, which contained 
live hickory coals, denominated a foot-stove, for 
winter, so the dear old lady was as comfortable 
as circumstances would permit. We youngsters 
were often wicked enough to envy her these 
luxuries, and not infrequently had arguments 
with Betty with regard to this partiality, but 
were soon abashed by the firm declaration " that 
if we didn't stop talkin' so wicked the b'ars would 
ketch us sure," for, next to grandmother, Betty 
was authority in all spiritual as well as secular 
matters. On either side of the pulpit, in special 
pews, sat the elders and deacons, six of each 
order, with their assigned position so arranged 
that the whole congregation was under inspection. 
To the youthful, irreligious, unsophisticated at- 
tendant, these twelve men seemed the incarnation 
of cold relentless piety divested of every humau 
frailty. Of divers names, sizes, avocations, de- 
grees of intelligence, they appeared as they sat 
in their accustomed places to become as one man. 
When one rose they all stood up; when one sat 
down all followed suit, a-s if acted upon simul- 
taneously by an electric wire. Their black dress 
coats seemed to have been made by the same 
tailor; their white neck cloths cut from one piece 



88 LAST DA YS OF 

of cambric, washed, ironed and folded by the 
same laundress; the bow knots even appeared to 
iiave been adjusted by the same hand, while the 
same unearthly pallor and fixed expression char- 
acterized the faces of the twelve. When at length 
the minister rose, consulted his watch, placed 
his handkerchief under one side of the Bible, and 
had slyly slipped his notes from under his gown 
on to the Bible, the sermon began. Then came, 
at least in one sense, a positive relief. The 
t-wenty-four eyes of the twelve elders and deacons 
were raised as if by word of command, and 
for an hour at least were fixed seemingly 
ivithout winking upon the Dominie as he ex- 
pounded his version of the Law. That protracted 
harangue afforded the opportunity to scan these 
greatly-feared twelve with no probable risk of 
meeting one of their cold fixed eyes. No ray of 
soul light could be detected on their countenances; 
not even when the minister became so warmly 
eloquent as to cause woman's cheek to glow 
with sympathetic excitement. The torments 
of the bottomless pit proclaimed by the un- 
compromising Brownlee; the beatitude of the 
blest hopefully dwelt on by the gentle Knox; 
the pressing invitation to repentance herald- 
ed in powerful tones by the more j^outhful 
and impulsive De Witt, were ahke unavailing 
to produce the slightest variation in the ste- 
reotyped countenances of these twelve leading 
dignitaries of the Middle Dutch Chui'ch. They 
sat as motionless , as statues, rendered rigid 
by their sense of duty; the top line of a coj)y- 
i)ook was not more exact in its crosses' \nd dots. 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 89 

Still, incomprehensible as it may seem, tliey were 
men, and gentle ones at that. Once out of their 
pews they mingled cheerfully with their fellows 
in social life; grasped a brother's hand with a 
warm pressure, and their purse-strings were not 
tightly drawn when charity called for her tithes. 

If these indelible recollections should chance 
to meet the eye of any who in youth were led by 
their parents " like lambs to the slaughter " 
twice at least on each Sunday, to attend divine 
service at the Old Church, they cannot fail to re- 
call the unspeakable feeling of rehef they expe- 
rienced when the stated exercises were ended, 
the joy with which they sprang to their feet to 
give ease to their almost paralyzed limbs, but 
above all, the happy relaxation of the mind when 
convinced that the terrible ordeal was passed. 

Another striking feature in the routine of ser- 
vice, which happily has passed away with the oth- 
er stern realities of the times was the singing at 
the Middle Dutch, for that formed no inconsid- 
erable portion of the strain inflicted upon youth- 
ful nerves. The Middle Dutch had no organ, not 
that the congregation was too poor to indulge in 
such a luxury, for in truth it had the means at 
commandl;o purchase, and pile tier upon tier the 
most costly ones Euroj)e could furnish, but the ap- 
pliance was registered by common consent as an 
invention of the arch enemy to distract mortals 
from the real essence of praise. In the vacant 
space under the elevated pulpit was placed a soli- 
tary chair, in front of which stood an ordinary 
table, upon which were ranged side by side a 
hjrmn-book, a devotional Psalmody, and a tuning 



90 LAST DAYS OF 

fork — a small steel instrument used to pitch the 
desired key. This space was the esclusive do- 
main of the chorister. The chorister of the Mid- 
dle Dutch was a severely taxed functionary, as he 
was compelled to stand three times during each 
service facing the gaze of the entire congregation, 
and maintain a calm, stoical expression, which 
would have quahfied him for the exalted position 
of elder, had he not been compelled from the pe- 
culiar duties of his station to make some contor- 
tions of visage, so the matter of eldership was set 
at rest. Being the leader it was not in accord- 
ance with the dignity of his profession to permit 
the wondrous organ of sound with which Nature 
had gifted him to be overpowered, or his person- 
ality to be for a single moment lost in the din 
created by a thousand enthusiastic warblers, each 
one of whom was straining every nerve with the 
determination to be heard at least on earth. 
Twelve stanzas and a doxology must have been a 
fearful tax even upon a man of his well tested or- 
gans of respiration. For years he held this post 
of danger, apparently uninjured, defying alike 
bronchitis and consumption, for when grown gray 
at his post there was no apparent diminution of 
power or endurance. If Chorister Earl be still 
living, (and there is no vahd reason for the "taking 
off" of this iron-clad specimen of the race,) it was 
a marvel that he was not engaged to lead that 
concourse of sweet sounds, which, a short time 
since, shook the foundation of Bunker Hill, and 
yet vibrate in the ears of the delighted Boston 
critics. Gilmore must be young and untraveled 
not to have heard of Chorister Earl. Dominie, 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 91 

elders, deacons, cliorister, tuning-fork and all, 
have passed under the swath of the "Scythe 
Bearer," and their descendants are carefully 
nestling in a white marble structure of exquisite 
finish and beauty on the corner of Fifth Avenue 
and Twenty-Ninth Street, surrounded by fashion 
and worldly pomp. In the modern Middle Dutch, 
smiling clergymen delight their listeners with 
short, well constructed, moral essays; smart, dap- 
per elders and deacons, with beaming counte- 
nances, gay necktie's and jewelled shirt fronts, are 
the admiration of the young. No chorister and 
tuning-fork, but in their stead a charming Prima 
Dona, sustained \>j a Tenore and Basso of ac- 
knowledged operatic reputation, is hidden from 
public gaze by the rich curtains of the organ loft, 
w^hence she warbles with exquisite skill the 
choicest solos of modern art, while the new school 
reclines on velvet couches so enchanted by the 
performance that were it not for some vague, 
misty associations connected with the day and 
place, it would be acknowledged by the clapping 
of jewelled hands and a floral tribute. 

It is not very long ago, but since the epoch 
when modern improvements displaced the rigid 
formalities of the Dutch Church service, that a 
meeting for some specified object of religious in- 
terest was held on a Sunday evening in one of the 
most fashionable of our Presbyterian churches, 
celebrated not only for the eloquence of its pastor 
but for the brilliancy of its choir. Ministers of 
all denominations were invited to be present and 
participate in the exercises. Prominent among 
the clergy who were seated in the pulpit was a 



9^ LAST DA YS OF 

venerable divine, whose massive presence brought 
back the past with vivid minuteness; age had 
dealt leniently with his imposing, Websterian 
outline, and his undimmed, sympathetic eye, 
demonstrated the deep interest he felt. He,, 
however, took no active part until near the close, 
when, by request of the pastor, he rose to his feet, 
and spreading out his arms as if to include all in 
his heartfelt invitation, he enunciated in a deep, 
rich voice, that rang through the frescoed arches 
of the church, "Let us rise, and conclude this 
service of God, by singing to His praise the five 
hundred and sixty-second hymn, — 'Hark! the 
Song of Jubilee.' " The almost inspired lay of 
Montgomery was felt and understood, as it wa& 
powerfully declaimed b}^ that master mind. The 
effect of the appeal was electrical; the peals of 
the organ were swallowed by that sounding song 
of praise. The old Knickerbocker leaven had for 
the moment forced its way through the thin cov- 
eiing of fashionable conventionality. 

The old Middle Dutch bell still clangs as of 
yore; not, however, to call sinners to rej^ent and 
shun the fire of the hereafter, but to summon the 
firemen of our city to do their secular duty in 
quelling some present and visible conflagration. 

In the immediate vicinity of the old church 
there lived a man, who was a well-known, eccen- 
tric character, but respected as a good and useful 
citizen. Grant Thorburn, the florist, might be 
termed an extraordinary genius, with a 
personal identity seldom encountered in the com- 
mon walks of hfe. His shuffling gait, the result 
of a malformation, made him always consx)icuou& 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE 93 

even in a crowded thoroughfare, while his strict 
Quaker garb, of which sect he was a member, 
added to the grotesque outline of his short, un- 
prepossessing figure. Grant was continually on 
the street, bowing right and left to every one he 
chanced to meet; but whether this peculiarity 
was the result of nervous sensibility, or as some 
asserted, in a conceited idea of his own import* 
ance, matters little. He was a harmless busy- 
body, and occupied much of his time by writing 
letters to the press expressive of bis views on any 
special topic which was at the time uppermost in 
pablic attention. Some of these literary effusions 
afforded much amusement, as his sentiments 
were always expressed in unmeasured terms, but 
in the main were only on a par with similar dis- 
plays of erratic minds who aim at achieving some 
kind of notoriety. Grant's individual business 
always appeared to be of secondary consideration 
with him. At any hour of the day he found 
leisure for a protracted chat, and was ever 
ready to listen to and frequently did embark 
heart and soul in the doubtful schemes of petty 
speculation which were then started with hmited 
public support. But Httle by little they gained 
ground against the ruling prejudice of the day, 
until at length the "Mulberry Mania" became 
epidemic, and for a considerable time was the 
engrossing topic not only in the city but for 
miles around. Pamphlets were circulated, de- 
tailing in figuies that were never known to lie, 
the enormous profits which were sure to be the 
result of the intelligent culture of the "• Morus 
Multicaulis." Editorials on the fecundity Oa tho 



--i LAST DAYS OF 

ailk worm were daily spun out in the blanket 
sheets; farms, garden and city lots even, were 
transformed into nurseries. Shining silk was 
not yet, but was soon to be the universal cover- 
ing. Poor but serviceable cotton w^as spurned as 
the " makeshift " of a dark age, and the whole 
Knickerbocker tribe was at an early day to be 
arrayed in brocade. The contagion spread with 
such rapidit}^ that hundreds of the old school, 
well-to-do, plodding men, abandoned their life- 
long avocations and invested every dollar they 
coujid rake and scrape, and • even when that did 
not suffice, pledged their credit to its utmost 
tension to secure controlling interest in this 
bubble. After creating a somewhat protracted 
excitement this exj^ensive " hobby horse " was 
lidden to death.' A few sharpers quietly sold out 
and withdrew when the precious trees were sell- 
ing at a penny per leaf, disposing of their interest 
to saving men, who, in tui-n, were soon k)0 glad 
to accept the price of fire-wood for theii* bargains, 
when by the sudden reaction they found them- 
selves involved in pecuniary ruin. Grant Thor- 
burn, as will be surmised, was one of the fii'st to 
embark in an enterprise, which from his occu- 
pation of agriculturalist he would be supposed to 
comprehend. He entered largely into the work ; 
be p>lanted vadely on Long Island, and with his 
inflammable temperament jumped in imagination 
from the silk- worm to the loom; to the full stocked 
warehouse; to fortune; but only to find himself 
so hampered by bills payable as forever after to 
cripple his independence and materially to lessen 
his self-love. Grant lived to a ripe old age sus- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 95 

f ained by a pittance in the Custom House. He 
wrote occassionally for the press, but the natura 
of his manifestoes was changed from the decided 
dictation and self-assertion so characteristic of 
iis earlier efforts. 



CHAPTER EIGHTH. 

Eating-houses, now more politely termed res- 
taurants, were limited in number, commonplace 
in appointments, and would not ordinarily be 
deemed of sufficient importance to warrant even 
a passing notice. But as they were the creations, 
so to speak. Of a foreign element in the city, they 
may be alluded to collectively as one of the step- 
ping-stones which cropped out as, by degrees, 
primitive Gotham gave way to metropolitan New 
York. They were established in the business 
portion of the city, and their patronage was de- 
rived from the necessities they afforded, and not, 
as is the case at present, fi'om their gastronomical 
luxuries. Dinner was the meal upon which they 
depended, and the noon hour their harvest time. 
The clatter of dishes, the bustle of the hui'rying 
waiters, the steam from the savory compounds 
were perhaps appetizers to some. " Ghacun a son 
gout" but long abstinence was needed for a novice 
in such matters before he could enjoy a repast 
served at one of our pioneer refreshment saloons. 
'The curious in such affairs can have ocular, oral 
and nasal experience by simply visiting one of the 
cellars now in full blast under Fulton Market. 
High noon is the precise time to see the cauldron 
bubble. The scene then to be witnessed on any 
week day is a counterpart of the earliest efforts of 
New York purveyors. Evening, or more prop- 



LAST DA YS OF KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 97 

-erly, night customers were to most of them un- 
known. The one or two noted exceptions will be 
named hereafter. Saloons were not the mode 
with gentlemen, and women would have endm-ed 
the gnawings of hunger before venturing to enter 
the most retired one on the list. As late as 1835 
James Thompson, a confectioner, opened a store 
at 171 Broadway, for the sale of cakes and other 
dainties, to accommodate ladies who were engaged 
in shopping; but for a long time this embryo 
Delmonico languished in neglect, even though the 
sisters of the proprietor, middle-aged women, 
were the sole attendants, and it was situated on 
the most frequented portion of the promenade. 
Tempting morceaux were displayed in the, win- 
-dows, but all in vain, sideway glances were the 
only recognition vouchsafed them by dame or 
miss ; society ruled that it was not proper to enter 
and partake ; so the grandmothers and mothers 
.of the present generation trudged home content. 
It has been the rule for society to enact laws for 
its own government. Whether the Knickerbocker 
law, which has been superseded as being too 
stringent, was right or not will be fully demon- 
strated when the coming generation reviews the 
conduct of their maternal ancestors. " All's well 
that ends well " is a truism to be duly considered 
by any class of society. Modesty, under old-fash- 
ioned rule, signified diffidence, purity, truth ; it 
shrank from public gaze, it moved in a quiet, un- 
ostentatious manner, and selected the humble but 
beautiful violet as its emblem. Its possessor was 
surrounded by unmistakable evidences of its real 
presence ; the dehcate mantling of the cheek, the 



9S LAST DA YS OF 

half-closed eyelid, the slightly stoojoing position, 
the noiseless, sliding step, the subdued tone could 
not be counterfeited by the most cunning art of 
the coquette. Man recognized it at a glance, and 
was ready " to avenge even a look that threatened 
it with insult." Chivaby is not dead, although 
the fact has been asserted with bui-ning eloquence; 
it has merely fallen into a condition of letharg}^, 
as the primary object of its inspiration has as- 
sumed, under modern rule, to be her own cham- 
pion, guide and protector. "Woman, old and 
young, sick and poor, beautiful or hideous, has 
chosen the responsibility of standing alone ; she 
has clipped one by one the clinging tendrils of 
her nature, and with head erect and defiant step 
resolved to battle against the world. The finale 
of this new departure has been depicted in the 
past ; history will once more repeat itself. 

The dining-room of Clark & Brown, one of the 
most extensive, was on Maiden Lane, near to its 
, junction with Liberty street. It was the resort 
of such who particularly delighted in roast beef 
very rare and cut in thick slices, or a beefsteak 
scarcely warmed through, English plum-puddings 
and a mug of the best "half and half" in the 
city, brewed at Poughkeepsie or Philadelphia, 
but just for the name of the thing, " you know," 
called Burton Stock Ale. The peculiar mode of 
serving meats and the strong, black London Dock 
brandy did not meet the approval of the unedu- 
cated Knickerbocker stock, who had been reared 
on thoroughly cooked food, and preferred made 
gravies to the pure red juice, so prominent an 
article in the John Bull creed. So the house be- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIEE. 99 

came known as an English chop house, and was 
in the main patronized by Yorkshiremen who were 
engaged temporarily in selling manufacturers' 
consignments and remitting the proceeds in cot- 
ton or gold. Yorkshiremen have always been 
distinguished for their clannish , tendency, and 
have ever been noted for their devotion to Old 
England, so they congregated at Clark & Brown's 
to enjoy the nearest aj^proach to their native diet 
which the place of their exile afforded. They 
made it a species of Exchange — met to talk over 
business, and, on the arrival of a packet, a ren- 
dezvous to communicate news from home. It was 
at this hour that the nucleus of the St. Geoige 
Cricket Club was formed, and from which the 
players started to participate in a game on their 
ground located on Broadway, where the magnifi- 
cent Gilsey House now stands. The upper dining- 
room rang with boisterous merriment when on 
extraordinary occasions they convened to bid 
adieu to one of their countrymen, who, having 
arrived poor and a stranger, had succeeded, by 
the tact for which the race is so celebrated, in 
amassing an ample competency, and was on the 
eve of sailing from the inhosx^itable Yankee shore 
to spend his American gold at home. At these 
gatherings, the beef, the mutton, the pudding, the 
ale, the bread, the cheese, even the celery and 
salt, were pronounced inferior to the glorious fare 
so abundant at Huddersfield or Saddleworth. 
The "blarsted" country was awarded the accus- 
tomed sneers, and the lucky one who had secured 
his pile was warmly congratulated that his pil- 
grimage was ended. " May we all be fortunate 



100 LAST DAYS OF 

enougli to follow suit at an early day," was drank 
■with all the honors. Buckley Bent, John Brad- 
bury, John Taylor, William Bottomley, Samuel 
Lord, and a host besides who has migrated with 
but a beggarly amount of capital, have all returned 
to astonish cousins and gaping neighbors with 
their princely fortunes. 

The Auction Hotel, so christened on account of 
its proximity to the stores of the well known 
houses of John Haggerty & Sons, Wilmerding & 
Co., L. M. Hoffman, etc., was on Water Street 
near Wall. From its inception it was strictly an 
American eating-house, and though dignified by 
the title of hotel it never rose above the pro- 
portions of a dining-hall. As such it became 
celebrated for its varied bill of fare, which in- 
cluded all the favorite dishes then in vogue, and 
its highly prized home made pies were temptingly 
(1 isplayed on a long counter, already shced for 
the customer who had no time to ask questions; 
barely sufficient to help himself; bolt the de- 
licious article; throw down his shilling, and rush 
out. George W. Brown was the proj^rietor, a 
worthy citizen, and it might be a slur on his 
memory to hint that in order to build uj? a 
prosperous trade he in any way forestalled the 
great American showman who gained a wide- 
spread reputation through his advertising dodges. 
Brown had been a merchant in the city but had 
failed (when suspension was not the light affair, 
BO easily arranged in one day,) and rumor has it> 
resorted to this enterprise to build up his broken 
fortunes. So the story ran. Certain it is he was 
successful in accumulating a large amount of 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 101 

money, but the second cliapter of this romance is 
narrated in glowing terms as follows: After a 
season of unprecedented success he invited all his 
old business creditors to a sumptuous repast 
spread in an upper room of the " Auction." They 
all came, of course, and each was provided with a 
seat at the loaded table. As one after another 
unfolded the damask napkin placed before him 
by the polite host, a sealed envelope was disclosed 
duly addressed, which when opened was found 
to contain a check for principal and interest of 
their respective claims. It matters little now 
whether the story -be true or false; it obtained 
credence at the time, and men flocked to spend 
their dollars with the honest landlord. 

Downing's was another of the same class but 
of a different type. This once famous cellar was 
located at No. 5 Broad Street, and occupied the 
basements of two small buildings. Its proprietor 
was a negro, and his place was fi-equented by 
those who believed in the marked superiority of 
colored cooks. Oysters, always in great favor 
with New York epicures, Downing made a 
specialty, and these served with great care in 
the most approved styles, formed the leading 
article of his traffic and established his reputation. 
This unattractive cellar, so far as adornment was 
concerned, was more of a lounging place than 
the others named from its close proximity to the 
Custom House, then running through from Pine 
Street to Cedar, finding ample accommodation 
within the limits of the medium sized stores, the 
Merchant's Exchange and the prominent banks. 
Leading politicians also made it headquarters. 



102 LAST DA YS OF 

dropping in to liave a chat wliile enjoying their 
half dozen Saddle Eocks or Blue Points. Samuel 
Swartwort, the generous-hearted but unfortunate 
Collector of the Port; 'William M. Price, the 
hospitable and learned District Attorney; John- 
athan J. Coddington, afterwards Postmaster ; 
Abraham R. Lawrence, President of the then 
embryo Harlem Eaih-oad, running from Prince 
Street and the Bowery to Yorkville Hill, where its 
progress was stopped during the excavation of 
the then famous tunnel; (how famous it was con- 
sidered the following, written at the time by a 
leading joui'nahst, will testify: "This tunnel at 
Yorkville is said to be as spacious as any other ex- 
cavation of solid rock made in modern times, not 
excepting the excavation of the Simplon by order 
of the Emperor Napoleon, and the approach to it 
at both ends is an object not less interesting than 
the tunnel itself. There is scarcely to be found 
more beautiful and picturesque scenery in any 
j)art of the world than the view Hell Gate and its 
surroundings present -to the eye fi'om the em- 
bankment north of the tunnel. This great work 
is still far from completion, though the energetic 
management of the Harlem Eoad are not sparing 
of their means, and their aim is to reach Harlem 
Eiver at the earliest possible moment.") This 
Harlem Eoad met its first check at Yorkville Hill; 
that was indeed a hard one to overcome, but in 
time it bored its way through the rock and 
reached its original point of destination. Since 
then, however, it has met with far more depress- 
ing obstacles to its progress. In its early stage 
it became a favorite foot ball in Wall Street, 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. IQS 

where its worthless stock was tossed about as a 
plaything, valueless as a security in time of need. 
After George Law, Philo. Hurd, and heaven only 
Imows who else, had run it deep in the mire of 
discredit, Commodore Vanderbilt by a series of 
manoeuvres executed with fidelity by his man 
Friday, John M. Tobin, acquired jDossession of 
the wreck and has given it position among the 
leading roads of the country. It certainly did 
not look promising as an investment to those who 
in its early days walked up to Vauxhall Garden, 
opposite where the Cooper Institute now stands, 
to witness the departure of a train for the remote 
region of Harlem. This train consisted of two 
elongated boxes mounted on tiny wheels pro- 
pelled by a locomotive about as powerful as a 
modern tea kettle at full boil ; the backing and 
filling required to compass the up grade at the 
point now covered by Union Square was ridicu- 
lous in the extreme, for on a dead level the 
machine could easily have been distanced by the 
Commodoie's trotters. Mountain Boy, Myron 
Perry or Daisy Burns — ^but enough of this 
digression; Bobby White, the rotund, cheerful 
President of the Manhattan Co., which supphed 
us with tea ivater, at a penny per pail, from the 
great reservoir on Thii'teenth Street near the 
Bowery; Jacob Barker, quaker, banker, broker, 
speculator in general; James B. Glentworth, the 
pioneer of political pipe layers and Inspector^of 
Tobacco; Fitz Greene Halleck, bookkeeper lor 
John Jacob Astor, the author of " Marco Boz- 
zaris," "Fanny," etc., and the friend of Drake, 
Leggatt & Bryant; Wilmerding & Jones, the 



104 LAST DA YS OF 

witty auctioneers; Gentleman Jack Haggertj, 
George L. Pride, John H. Coster, SteiDhen Whit- 
ney, Ham "Wilkes and a host of other good men- 
about-town found time amid their varied duties, 
schemes and pleasures to dive down the steep 
cellar steps to take a peep at Downing and have 
a few moments cheerful chat. 

With such surroundings Downing naturally 
became the medium of communication from one 
customer to another. The messages in the main 
were doubtless trivial and insignificant ; but the 
fact invested him in the eyes of the pubHc with 
no inconsiderable amount of importance, and by 
degrees it was whispered about that the oyster- 
man had influence at the Custom House, Post 
Oface and City Hall. These rumors had the 
effect of drawing many office-seekers to the 
-cellar, who treated him with the marked respect 
usually bestowed on the power behind the 
ihrone. But it was lucky for Downing that in 
Ms day offices were few and patriots far less 
importunate than now; the rumor would have 
been a malicious practical joke if he had been 
compelled to face the insatiate horde which at 
present besieges every minute crevice through 
which pubhc pap can possibly ooze. Downing 
after the lapse of years became what was then 
called rich, but had the good sense to keep pace 
with progress, and not to allow his quondam 
aristocratic associates to blind liim with reference 
to his real position. Up to the termination of 
his career as caterer he was studiously civil and 
attentive to all classes of customers, and at a ripe 
old age he assigned his title "Prince of Saddle 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 105 

Rock *' with " the tenements and hereditaments 
thereunto belonging " to his son George T. Down- 
ing, who on assuming the reins of power at- 
tempted to mingle a sprinkling of politics with 
his unsurpassed bivalves, and thereby illustrated 
the truth of the old proverb " that a little learn* 
ing is a dangerous thing." George did not 
graduate a Fred Douglas in his high flown as- 
pirations ; he was used some by the demagogues, 
bat has always been compelled to mingle oyster 
stews and politics together to eke out a subsist- 
ence. He migrates between "Washington and 
Newport in the prosecution of his two-fold occu- 
pation, and had he chosen, like the wise cobbler, 
"to stick to his last," his substantial success 
would have been greater and his social position 
just about as elevated. 

Edward Windust was the proprietor of a 
saloon, which so far as associations were con- 
cerned, had no competition in the city. Its 
location was in a basement on Park Row, only a 
few steps South of the Park Theatre. It was a 
theatrical rendezvous; newspaper men, actors, 
artists, musicians, with that innumerable throng 
of needy admirers which always follows in the 
wake of shiftless genius, made it for years their 
headquarters. Over the Park Row entrance to 
this cave, for by some tortuous winding it had an 
egress on Ann Street, there was displayed a sign 
bearing the motto " Nunquam non paratuia" and 
in consequence there were repeated applications 
by itinerant venders to inteiTiew either Mr. N. or 
Mr. P.; be that however as it may, Windust was 
a host widely known, and his rooms each evening 



106 LAST DAYS OF 

between the acts and after tlie performance were 
filled with the wit and talent of the city. Eanged 
on one side of this underground resort was a tier 
of boxes or stalls, in each of "which six could 
comfortably sit and partake of a well prepared 
supper. Many a jovial party was accommodated 
in these nooks, and if the old partitions could be 
gifted with speech what riches of joke and 
repartee mightjoe given to the world, which are 
now forever buried in oblivion. 

The walls of this sanctum were covered with 
reminiscences of the stage ; portraits of the great 
deHneators of character and passion who have 
passed away, quaint old play-bills of an antede- 
luvian age ; clippings of criticisms carefully pre- 
served as mementoes of misty traditions, contrib- 
uted by some sock and buskin antiquary to per- 
petuate the memory of his own brief career ; the 
sword with which Garrick was supposed to have 
committed his histrionic murders amid the plaud- 
its of thousands; in fine, it was the actor's 
museum of New York. Cooper, Cooke, Edmund 
Kean, Junius Brutus Booth, The Wallacks, Tjrrone 
Power, Thomas S. HambHn, Jack Scott, Harry 
Placide, Peter Richings, John Fisher, Mitchell, 
Brown, Billy Williams, and a host of other the- 
atrical lights, with Park Benjamin, George P. 
Morris, N. P. Willis, Parke Godwin, Dr. Porter, 
Massett, Dr. Bartlett, of the Albion; McDonald 
Clarke, the crazy poet ; Price, the manager ; Jim 
Otis, Fitz Green Halleck, George A. Dwight, and 
their confreres of the pen, met here on mutual 
ground of good fellowship, and over the foaming 
tankard nightly buried the hatchet, which always 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 107 

has and always will be flourished defiantly by the 
antagonistic forces of the stage and press. Pages 
of recollections might be related of each night's 
sayings and doings at the "Nunquam Non Pa- 
ratus ;" how the erratic Booth and the fiery Kean 
had ensconced themselves in one of the boxes and 
indulged in wild debauch during thek joint en- 
gagement at the Park, to the inexpressible agony 
of the mild Simpson, who, like the matronly hen, 
clucked frantically at nightfall in search of the 
pets, that he might gather them in, but how they 
would not be gathered in until the landlord's 
score was liquidated, which the frightened man- 
ager was only too glad to do, as it was near t}ie 
hour for the curtain to rise, and the great Othello 
and lago would require the intermediate time to 
be cooled off sufficiently so as not to travestie the 
tragic master-piece into a ridiculous farce ; how 
Jack Scott, with his broad chest expanded, his 
eye rolling with melodramatic frenzy, his ample 
shirt-collar unbuttoned to afford full play to his 
massive throat, raved at the scared critic who. 
had dared to assert tha,t Edwin Forrest ever had 
or ever could have an equal ; how Tom Hamblin 
tossed his flowing locks when declaiming, in 
ecstatic tones, the glorious qualities of the gifted 
Josephine Clifton ; how Hilson raised a roar by 
merely hoping " he did not intrude," as he awoke 
Charles Kemble Mason from his reverie on the 
majestic Fanny Kemble ; how Robert Macaire 
Brown and Jacques Strop Williams relieved Man- 
ager Mitchell of the priginal manuscript of the 
" Savage and the Maiden ;" how Manager Price 
buzzed the ears of the critics with laudations of 



108 LAST DA YS OF KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 

the great Vestris, and how carefully the wily 
Stager avoided the slightest approach to the age 
of that famous octogenarian wht) could sing " I 
am si-i-hix-hix-ty-two," as if it were not so at all ; 
how Harry Placide would gloat over the ever 
varying humor of Mrs. Vernon, and afiirm the 
Fisher family to be aU prodigies, including the 
youthful Clara, the " spoiled child " of the day — 
but these hows come so thick and fast that the 
reader will forget the eating-house of Gotham. 
Windust waxed rich, but as the money flowed 
into his treasury he became restless with his con- 
fined limits, and, like most mortals, he craved a 
wider sphere of action, and about 1836 he opened 
the Athenaeum Hotel, on the corner of Broadway 
and Leonard Street. This experiment lasted only 
for a time ; it gradually dwindled until Windust 
was too glad to return to the place where his 
reputation was established, but only to find ita 
prestige gone. 



CHAPTER NINTH. 

The cafe of the time was a very humble affair, 
still its existence was an evidence of growth and 
expansion. It affirmed that the European Con- 
tinental element was becoming sufficiently im- 
portant to demand its introduction, and by an 
unfailing law the supply was at hand. French and 
Italian citizens were few in number, so the con- 
sumj^tion of " cafe noir " was very limited, and 
the enterprising men who had embarked in the 
business, were compelled to add the sale of can- 
dies and cakes to meet the moderate expenses 
thus incurred. 

Delmonico and Guerin, so far as memory 
serves, were the pioneers in this peculiar branch 
of industry. Both were industrious, frugal, per- 
severing men, professed cooks and confectioners, 
thus fully competent to meet any exigency and to 
profit by their skill. 

The descendants and successors of Delmonico 
now occupy four costly and conspicuous build- 
ings in the city ; furnished with all the appliances 
tha.t modern art can invent to pander to the lux- 
ui'ious taste of the time, and one of them, the 
corner of Fifth Avenue and Fourteenth Street, is, 
beyond all question, the most palatial cafe or res- 
taurant on this continent. The stream of fashion 
which Hows through its spacious apartments from 

109 



no LAST DAYS OF 

morning until night, or rather, from morning un- 
til morning, amply demonstrates the source of the 
immense revenue required to move its intricate 
and expensive machinery. To lunch, dine or sup 
at Delmonico's is the crowning ambition of those 
who aspire at notoriety, and no better studio for 
character does the city afford than that expensive 
resort at almost any hour of the day. The indul- 
gence of the whim may be depleting to a moder- 
ate purse, but the panorama once seen and care- 
fully inspected in all its lights and shades will 
amply remunerate for the outlay of money, and 
the time will not be misspent. On entering fi'om 
Fourteenth Street one cannot fail to be impressed 
by the absence of bustle and confusion, no bois- 
terous commands are heard, and the waiters glide 
about as noiselessl}'' as ghosts. An air of luxury 
surrounds you as the attentive " gar9on " stands 
motionless before you, and resi^ectfull}^ awaits 
your wishes. The order once given, 3'ou have 
ample time to survey the scene. At the adjoining- 
table is seated a grey-haired, soft treading 
" gourmand," who gloats over his " carte " as if 
" life and death were in the scroll," and every- 
thing depended upon the selection he was about 
to make ; farther on is seen a fresh fledged mil- 
lionaire, who furtively glances about him as if in 
dread lest some old acquaintance may see him, 
or that some new made friend should not, as he 
points to his order for the highest priced item on 
the Kst, having no remote idea what compound 
will be placed before him, only knowing that the 
figure in the margin is large, and he awaits, with 
ah the " sang froid " he can summon, the result 



KXICKERBOCKER LIFE. Ill 

oi liis venture, but resolved to attack it no matter 
in what sliape it ma}' appear ; opposite to this 
ambitious Gourtland Street graduate lounges a 
puffy dowager, crowded into the nearest approach 
to shape by her dressmaker. The much dressed 
dame is perspiring at every pore, with the dread 
iest some stay prove ineffective to longer resist- 
ance ; beside her sits what, by universal consent, 
is called the " Belle of the Period,*' and to describe 
one wculd be to describe the class, but the mere 
idea is ridiculous to use an inelegant but express- 
ive Yankee phrase, " the thing can't be did," for 
man has failed in every attempt to compass the 
portraiture of the nondescript. A woman of raw 
talent might partially succeed, but the inference 
is that even Fanny Fern would be convinced that 
her experience and facile pen were both inade- 
quate to the task, and would be driven to wo- 
man's " dernier resort," a postscript, ^. e., for fur- 
ther particulars the reader is referred to a per- 
sonal inspection of this unnatui-al curiosity. Nast 
can caricature men with tremendous effect, but 
all the shafts he has hurled at the modern city 
belle fail pointless ; her make-up defies ridicule, it 
" out Herod s Herod." In close proximity to the 
city belle are seated two fresh looking demoiselles, 
who evidently like yourself are strangers to the 
scene, and are so absorbed in scrutinizing what 
has so much puzzled your brain that they have 
apparently forgotten themselves, for their lunch 
remains untouched before them, while their eyes 
are riveted upon her as if counting each stitch in 
the innumerable array of frills, flounces and tucks 
prescribed by fashion. So there is no danger of 



113 LAST DAYS OF 

detection by indulging in a somewhat minute 
comparison. These country girls, evidently of no 
mean pretensions, have chignons of considerable 
proportions, but they are mites when compai-ed 
with the 'pillion of their city sister ; their plentiful 
display of French jewehy pales before her varied 
assortment of flashing gems ; air and exercise 
have tinted their cheeks with a delicate glow of 
health — ^high art has enameled her fa^e v*ith the 
choicest mineral shade ; their eyes are sparkling 
with a natural lustre — restless dissipation has 
given her a cold, stolid stare, satiety and ennui 
in every outline and every movement ; yet, strange 
to relate, when these country lassies had com- 
pleted the critical analysis of this highly finished 
model of fashion, and their eyes fell upon their 
own neat but scanty embellishments, a half morti- 
fied expression of envious discontent spread over 
their innocent faces ; they hurriedly applied 
themselves in silence to their lunch, and modestly 
withdrew as if dazzled by this unaccustomed 
glare. Woman is verily a puzzle. 

At another table is a party of prinked-up young 
men, a collection of gaudy neckties, flash jewelry, 
and vapid pretense. These pride themselves on 
being/<zs^, while in fact they are the dullest and 
slowest of mortals, and were it not for the amuse- 
ment afforded by their ridiculous costumes, an- 
tics and grimaces, they would be hooted at by 
every true man and woman. This adjective /as< 
has been taken up by Young America, female as 
well as male, and is used by them in lieu of the 
old-fashioned phrase " man of the world,'* which 
had and still has a deep, decided significance, and 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 113 

no upstart parvenu can for a single moment dis- 
guise himself so as to escape detection. The 
title, "man of the world," implies intellect, culti- 
vation, grace of person, ease of manner, gentle- 
ness of tone, perfect self-control; in fine, a charac- 
ter so decided and go evenly balanced as never 
to be ruffled by petty crosses and annoyances. 
The dress of the man of the world is invariably 
suited to each occasion; he follows the style, but 
never leads it; it is perfect in its completeness, 
nothing striking in detail, everything " comme il 
fautr His address, especially in the presence of 
ladies, although entirely free from awkward re- 
straint, is characterized by modest repose; in 
conversation he eschews the personal pronoun, 
and perfectly understands when to lead, when to 
be led. How and in what respect, those noisy, 
faM society men, who are seated at that table, are 
entitled to the distinction they claim, they them- 
selves must determine; that they are recklessly 
fast in squandering time, opportunity and means, 
no one will deny, — they certainly are very far 
from being Chesterfields or D'Orsays. The 
gambler's well-filled purse and jDolitic lavish ex- 
penditure, insure his welcome here as elsewhere 
in the halls of fashion. His smiling face is known 
to all and his careless nods of recognition are re- 
turned from right and left as he leisurely saunters 
to his accustomed seat. His diamond is match- 
less for purity and size, his horses unequalled on 
the turf or drive, and so forsooth he is recognized 
by society. The lawyer seeks him for his client, 
the physician is prompt in attendance at his call, 
the tradesman bustles at his nod, and the poHti- 



114 LAST DAYS OF 

cian courts his powerful influence, — in his case 
all antecedents are ignored. 

But it is needless to catalogue the scenes 
at Delmonico's in 1870, its frescoed ceilings, 
mirrored halls, and sumptuous appointments are 
too familiar to warrant description. The thou- 
sands who go there to see, and the tens of thou« 
sands who are straining every nerve to be seen 
there, may possibly be more interested by a brief 
outline of Delmonico's, as established dui'ing the 
last days of Knickerbocker regime. In a small 
store on William Street, between Fulton and Ann, 
directly opposite the North Dutch Church the 
now metropolitan name first became known to 
New Yorkers. The little place contained some 
half-dozen pine tables with requisite wooden chairs 
to match, and on a board counter covered with 
white napkins was ranged the limited assortment 
ot pastry. Two-tine forks and buck-handled 
knives were not considered vulefar then, neither 
were common earthenware cups and plates inad- 
missible. As a matter of course the first custom 
was derived from the foreign element, attracted 
by the "fillets," "maccaroni," "cafe," "chocolat" 
and "petit verre." These were duly served by the 
"CJtief" in person, who, with white paper cap and 
ax3ron, was only too glad to ofiiciate as his own 
"gar9on." By slow stages the courteous manner 
of the host, coupled with his delicious dishes and 
moderate charges, attracted the attention, tickled 
the palate, and suited the pockets of some of the 
Knickerbocker youths who were on the lookout 
for something new, who at once acknowledged 
the superiority of the French and Italian cuisine- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 115 

as expounded and set forth by Delmonico. It 
must not, however, for a moment be thought, that 
the new converts from the plain roasted and 
boiled doctrine to the new rich gravy faith, 
plunged at once into the vortex of the elaborate 
and expensive spread, now every-day affairs at 
Fifth Avenue. By no means was such the case; 
their visits were at wide intervals and mostly 
confined to Saturday afternoons, when the good 
folks were almost certain to be at home laying 
out their Sunday clothes. Two or three would 
agree to meet at the Cafe for the purpose of in- 
dulging in a light French entertainment. On 
these occasions unusual secresy was indispensa- 
ble, for if detected, we were certain to incur the 
marked displeasure of our grandmother, and to 
be soundly berated in the first place for our fool- 
ish extravagance, and secondly, pitied for our lack 
of taste by giving preference to "such vile greasy 
compounds," which we were assured would de- 
stroy our stomachs; while if we dared to mention 
the cool, refreshing "vin ordinaire" that delight- 
ful beverage was denounced as a miserable sub- 
stitute for vinegar. Still, in spite of the well- 
meant warnings we repeated our visits whenever 
we could do so with safety, and were warranted 
by our limited supply of "pocket money;" and 
yet farther, with what our old fogy ancestors 
would have pronounced unprincipled, w(3 inducted 
others into the secret that good things to eat 
could be had at the little cook-shop on William 
Street. Gradually the little shop had not the 
requisite space to accommodate its increasing 
patronage, and Delmonico, instead of following 



116 LAST DAYS OF 

the stream that, pointed up-town, wisely removed 
his business still further down in the centre of 
the wholesale traffic before the disastrous confla- 
gration of '35. When after a time that du'eful 
calamity was surmounted, he built the restaurant 
still standing on the corner of William and Bea- 
ver Streets, in which the brothers with their sons 
and nephews accumulated fortunes, and from 
which sprang the branches now so flourishing on 
the thoroughfares of New York. 

Francis Guerin, a native of France and a co- 
temporar}^ of the original Delmonico, opened his 
caie on Broadway, between Pine and Cedar 
Streets, directly opposite the City Hotel, then the 
most busy portion of the leading thoroughfare. 
Keenly alive to the accumulation of dollars he 
ornamented his show windows to attract the at- 
tention of promenaders and stragglers w^ho con- 
tinually passed to and fro before his shop. His 
display consisted of imported and domestic con- 
fectionery, inviting specimens of pastry and cake, 
bottles of choice French cordials, fancy boxes 
filled with Parisian bon-bons interspersed with 
the fruits then in market. Inside, the shelves 
were lined with preserves in sugar and brandy 
while on a long counter, w^hich reached from end 
to end, were spread the tarts and confections for 
which the place was noted until a very short time 
ago. From its location and limited dimensions 
this place was never, strictly speaking, a cafe or 
restaurant; sandwiches, sardines, and the sweets 
mentioned constituted the daily bill of fare, al- 
though at tiie rear of the store a small apartment 
was furnished with table and chairs, where coifee, 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 117 

chocolate, and, in Summer, ice cream, were served; 
but it was at best a dingy place, and as it had 
no entrance except through the store, it was but 
Httle frequented, and never by ladies. After a 
limited period the pie and cake counter was cur- 
tailed and the confectionary department became 
Bierely ornamental, except during the holiday 
season, to make space for the bar, which was 
lengthened and widened at the expense of the 
other branches, — for the retailing of liquors grew 
into the prominent feature of the business. Es- 
sentially it degenerated into a cosmopohtan 
drinking saloon, where Americans rushed for 
their hurried nip of brandy-and-water, French- 
men sauntered about sipping absinthe and or- 
geat, Itahans smacked their lips over a thimble- 
full of maraschino, — for all nationalities claimed 
to find at Pere Guerin's their favorite beverage in 
perfection. From this trade a fortune was soon- 
realized, but the proprietor had no ambition for 
display and very littb love for even cleanliness; 
he spent nothing in repairs or renovation, and the 
old place became dingy through neglect, though 
it continued in the hands ol a successor to drive 
a brisk trade until two or three years ago, when 
its site was required for more remunerative im- 
13rovements, when the old crib was demolished 
" leaving no trace behind." 

Delmonico and Guerin, though starting simul- 
taneously in the same business, and though both 
were successful in amassing wealth, were, as 
proved by results, very different men in tempera- 
ment and design. The former a generous, en- 
teiprisuig Italian, while he adhered strictly to 



118 LA ST DA YS OF KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 

his original plan, enlarged and improved when 
warranted by the demand and the growth of the 
city. A social host, his ambition was to please 
the public, and to outstrip competition by a lav- 
ish yet judicious expenditure. He rose from the 
obscurity of a petty shop and lived to have his 
name known everywhere, at home and abroad. 
The latter, a Frenchman of penurious tendencies, 
with no personal ambition, stuck to his shop, ac- 
cumulated an immense estate, but so far as the 
public knows has left no record to tell when or 
how he had lived and died. The old sign "Fran- 
cis Guerin, Confectioner," has been swept away. 



CHAPTEK TENTH. 

The promenade was Broadway, the extremes 
being Bleecker street and the Battery. Though 
the bustle was great in proportion to the popula- 
tion, it was a quiet lane in comparison with our 
surging thoroughfare bounded by the same lim- 
its. The sites now covered with costly piles of 
marble or granite, ornamented in the highest 
style of art, were occupied by modest three-story 
brick buildings, whose only adornment consisted 
of bright green blinds, with shining brass knock- 
ers and door-plates. Many of them below Park 
Place had been converted into retail stores or 
shops for fashionable tradesmen, for Broadway 
was becoming prominent for its styles and prices, 
and the beau of the day was not properly attired 
who did not patronize these self-appointed , dic- 
tators of fashion. Wheeler, Tryon & Derby, 
Brundage or Elmendorf must furnish his clothes, 
his boots mubt be manufactured by Kimball & 
Rogers, a St. John hat was indispensable, and his 
satin stock was far from being " the thing " unless 
obtained at the furnishing store of Clark & Sax- 
ton. As a natural sequence, the young men who 
aspired to be considered as " sans reproche " in 
their toilets became mere tailors' blocks, as they 
were dressed in such uniformity of style, as effec- 
tually to destroy all individuality. From the pre- 

119 



120 LAST DAYS OF 

scribed style no departure was permitted, the tall 
and thin, the short and stout were forced to don 
I'habit de mode. No matter how unbecoming or 
uncomfortable, there was no redress. 

Black was the prevailing color ; it was worn 
for promenade, parlor, church, ball, business — in 
fact, every man who pretended io drea^^, dressed in 
*' the inky habiliments of woe." No gentleman 
considered himself, or was considered by others, 
duly presentable who was not attired in a high, 
black beaver — not one of our modern, light, shi- 
ning silk affairs, but a heavy, long-napped, broad - 
brimmed, bell-crowned hat, which pressed Hke a 
vice on the head ; a broad, black satin stock, so 
wide and unyielding that the ground could only 
be seen three paces to the front, a species of mili- 
tary invention to enforce the order of heads up ; 
a sharp-pointed, standing shirt-collar, in design 
not unlike the cutwater of a steamboat — no giii 
could kiss the wretched wearer without endanger- 
ing her eyesight — and so large as to half conceal 
the beardless face of the man ; a black frock coat, 
a marvel of disproportion and discomfort, short- 
waisted, narrow-chested, long, narrow skirts, with 
sleeves so tight as seriously to obstruct circula- 
tion, and to render bursting imminent should the 
dashing young man have occasion to use his arms; 
black pantaloons, tight to the skin, and so securely 
fastened by straps beneath the boot as to entirely 
destroy the free action of the knee for the purpose 
of easy locomotion ; a prolonged sitting posture, 
when encased in these inexpressibles, was equal 
to a slight attack of paralysis. This discomfort 
'was materially enhanced by a pair of Kimball's 



KNICKERBOCKER LIEF., 121 

boots, liigli-lieeled, narrow and pointed, and were 
only got into after a deal of labor, assisted by 
boot-hooks and soap. Black gloves and a blar-k 
cane about completed the costume of the tortured 
exquisite, who imagined himself an Adonis. 

These primitive dandies were deprived of ono 
great source of pleasure enjoyed by the young- 
men of to day, i. e., they could not laugh at each 
other's folly, or criticise each other's lack of taste 
— they were all " black crows " — all were in 
straight jackets, but all were harmless members 
of society. 

The belle was a little less restricted in the 
selection of color, but not a whit in the prescribed 
style, and was permitted small scope for the dis- 
play of youthful charms, especially on the prome* 
nade. The conventional bonnet was so hideous 
contrivance in size and shape that " the old wo- 
man who rode on the broom " adopted it at sight, 
and a look at one of ^Hhe frightful things" would 
cause a shudder to pass through the delicate 
frame of a modern demoiselle. In shape this 
monstrosity was not unlike a coal scuttle, and was 
usually trimmed with a full-blown peony or a 
prodigious bunch of roses displayed on its ample 
crown. This grand affair was a most effective 
bar to anything approaching to a side glance "en 
passant;'* far more effective than a gig top, for 
the latter could be lowered at will, while the 
former, when once adjusted, was a stationary fix- 
ture. 

The antiquated, solemn appearance imparted by 
this hat was materially aided by the plain cloak or 
shawl which hung ras: like and unadorned from 



122 LAST DAYS OF 

the shoulders oi the fair wearer, and which conk 
pletely concealed any charm of figure or grace OJ 
outline which the timid maiden might possess, 
while a plain, untrimmed skirt, reaching only to 
the ankle, left unhid hose of spotless white, but, 
at the same time, did not hide from view a heel- 
less, flat "slipper," kept in place by black strings 
wound around the ankle, durable, no doubt, but 
certainly not fascinating to the eye. A parasol, 
edged with deep, heavy silk fringe, and pon- 
derous, carved ivory handle was always "en 
regie," and a bag of gay colored silk or 
velvet, embroidered with beads, and having 
the capacity of a modern travelling satchel, 
was indispensable for full dress. The main 
"piece de resistance," however, was the hand- 
kerchief. This all-important article was, as a 
rule, bordered with lace, the quality of which 
was supposed to definitely fix the financial status 
of the family ; and that its full glory might be 
displayed, it was carried by its exact centre be- 
tween the fore finger and thumb, so that no 
speck of its size or jot of its value should be lost 
to the world. 

The appearance of a bride on Broadway was a 
special relief from the monotony which character- 
ized the otherwise humdrum promenade. As a 
matter of course the head gear of the bride was 
*' a la mode," so far as shape and dimensions were 
concerned, but the thing was made of gorgeous 
white satin, and the high steeple crown was fes- 
tooned with orange blossoms, and from the peak 
of the monstrosity was suspended a white veil of 
flashy blonde lace which nearly touched the 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 123 

ground, and so capacious in width as to envelope 
the fair one in its folds. The culmination was in 
the pearl brocade dress, which apparently con- 
tained sufficient material for the construction of 
half a dozen modern robes ; the sleeves were poet- 
ically styled " leg of mutto-i," which, when filled 
out by the interior appliances, which mean Httle 
brothers affirmed, were composed of " Hve geese 
feathers," imparted a fearful breadth of shoulder 
The waist, or " bodice," as it was then styled, 
looked as stiff and uncomfortable as steel and 
whalebone could make it, while the skirt was 
gathered on the waist to act as balance or equiva- 
lent for the bonnet and sleeves. A massive gold 
chain was coiled around the neck, having a pen- 
dant of sufficient length to secure a gold chro- 
nometer, which was slipped into the belt, the 
latter being secured in front by a buckle of mag- 
nificent proportions. This conventional bride, all 
in white, with this conventional groom all in 
black, were interesting sights on Broadway when 
New York was forty years yoiinger than to-day. 
Before taking leave of these belles and beaux 
it is appropriate to briefly notice a place of resort 
during summer afternoons, which was considered 
not only fashionable, but eminently proper for 
them to patronize, into which they could boldly 
enter, sit down, and partake " sans peur et sans 
reproche." The New York Garden, Contoit, pro- 
prietor, was on the west side of Broadway, be- 
tween Leonard and Franklin streets. This gar- 
den was a long, narrow plot, so densely shaded 
that no ray of sunhght could penetrate it, and on 
that account should have been patented as a 



124 LAST DAYS OF 

reirigerator, for it oiten was too delightfully cool 
for health, and so dark that, on the approach of 
evening shades, the gloom was rendered more 
palpable by innumerable small sflass globes, filled 
with sperm oil, in each of which floated a minute 
taper; these were suspended on the lower 
branches of the trees, and when duly Hghted 
emitted an effalgence about equal to the same 
number of June bugs. On either side of the walk 
was ranged a tier of neatly white and green 
washed boxes ; a board table ran through the 
centre of each of these tiny cubby holes, with 
seats to accommodate about four persons, but if 
very intimate friends, six could in an emergency 
squeeze in and manage after a fashion. Colored 
waiters, with white jackets and aprons, bustled 
hither and thither, as only excited darkies can 
bustle, supplying the eager crowd with vanilla or 
lemon ice cream, pound cake, or lemonade, then 
comprising the dainties to which the belles were 
restricted. This being a fixed unalterable fact, a 
young man of the period with thrtie shillings in 
his pocket could invite a fair friend to enter the 
e.iclosure, to be seated in a box, and give her 
order without fear of discomfiture, for he knew 
his capital was fully equal to the emergency. 

One saucer of Contoit's cream was amj^le to 
satisfy the cravings of an ordinary appetite, as 
the quantity was materially greater than could 
possibly have been afforded with more costly sur- 
roundings ; an uncovered board for a table, over- 
spreading branches in place of frescoed ceilings, 
a plank instead of a walnut lounge, a chipped 
earthenware saucer and a black pewter spoon did 



ICNICKE2ZB0CKER LIFE. 1^5 

not involve enormous outlay of capital, so the 
proprietor could afford, when milk and sugar 
were much cheaper than now, to serve a heapin.ir 
allowance for a shilling of either vanilla or lemor, 
while sixpence was all he demanded for a good- 
sized slice of pound cake— not over rich to be 
sure— and no charge was made for attendance or 
for the tumbler of pure Manhattan spring water. 
Eighteen pence, under these circumstances, would 
nicely do the business ; the man with thousands 
at command could do no moie. Contoits gar- 
den was on the temperance plan, no bar was to 
be seen, no liquor publicly sold ; but there was 
*'a wheel within a wheel," even there; and a 
quarter slyly dropped into a sable palm would 
ensure a moderate supply of cognac to be poured 
over the lemon ice, which gentlemen almost 
always preferred to the more luscious vanilla, to 
the great surprise of their fair companions, who 
frequented this place by the consent of their 
watchful parents and guardians ; so the initiated 
and the smiKng Sambo, our accomplice in the 
dark transaction, were compelled to be very 
shady. The manoeuvres to elude detection were 
sometimes ludicrous in the extreme. Time has 
however, removed the ban of secresy; garden* 
proprietor, parents, guardians have all passed 
away, and the girls, grown older, have become too 
well accustomed to modern usages to indulge in 
any upbraidings at this late day. 

It has been mentioned that private residents 
were being fast driven from Broadway to make 
rcom for the retail trade. Cedar and Liberty 
Btreets, east of the thoroughfare, with Maiden 



126 LAST DA YS OF 

Lane, John and Fulton streets, were wholly given 
lip to business purposes, and the houses on Cort- 
landt and Dey streets, were mostly occupied as 
boarding-houses of a second class. Park Place, 
Barclay, Murray, Warren, Chambers and Beek- 
man streets were tenanted by some of the oldest 
and best families. On the door-plates were seen 
such names as Bayard, Cruger, Allen, Brown, Lee, 
Clinton, Lawrence, Paulding, Ten E^^ck, De Pey- 
ster, Van Cortlandt, Duane, Beekman, Graham, 
etc., whose descendants are among our most hon- 
ored citizens. They were merchants who laid the 
foundations upon which we are now rearing our 
magnificent structure, and belonged to the class 
of men eulogized by Henry Earl, of Northamp- 
ton, when he so eloquently said : " The merchant 
is a state and degree of persons, not only to be 
respected, but to be prayed for. They are the 
convoys of our supj)lies, the vents of our abund- 
ance, Neptune's almoners and fortune's adven- 
turers." Some of this class had the enterprise to 
remove still further from the business portion of 
the city, and built themselves homes on Franklin, 
Leonard and White streets to make doubly sure 
that their seclusion would not be invaded by 
bustle and confusion. One old gentleman who 
loved his quiet was a long time undecided 
whether to select a plot on Broadway, or on 
Walker's Lane near Chapel street — the prices of 
both were the same — but after due deliberation 
he fixed upon the latter, for the avowed reason 
that the Post Road would always be dusty and 
noisy. Both spots are dusty now, but unfortu- 
nately for his heirs at law the Post Road lots aro 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 127 

worth dollars while his deliberate choice would 
not realize cents in comparison. 

White street was the natural jDassage to St. 
John's Park, and west of Broadway was soon 
lined with first-class brick dwellings. On the 
north side, close to Broad 'A'a}^ were the homes of 
the Depau family of daughters, distinguished for' 
their beauty and wealth, as well as for their aris- 
tocratic descent, derived through their mother, 
Silvie, who was the daughter of the distinguished 
Comte De Grasse. These ladies, who had intermar- 
ried with the Livingstons, Costers, Fowlers, were 
justly considered as leaders in society, and their 
selection of White street stamped it for the time, 
and others rapidly followed in their wake. St. 
John's Park was a quiet but fashionable quarter 
for many years". The umbrageous enclosure was 
kept in perfect order, and, as it was private prop- 
erty, no one having access to it save those who 
occupied the surrounding houses and their ^in- 
vited friends, ladies and children could lounge or 
play in the ground free from all intrusion. The 
many cheerful games and romps enjoyed in the 
old Park are cherished recollections with hun- 
dreds of men and women, who felt unfeigned 
sadness to see the trees leveUed and the old play- 
ground blotted out to make way for high walls 
and the shrill whistle of the locomotive. Only 
two or three of the door-plates now remain on the 
houses that faced the Park ; the names of Lord, 
Kemble, Lydig, Coit, Monson, Berrian, Piussell, 
Hosack, Binsie, Delafield, etc., are no longer to be 
seen there, and the descendants of the former 
parishioners of the old church have flown to more 



1^8 LAST DAYS OF 

aristocratic and genial quarters ; nothing but the 
church with its tall spire is left as a landmark of 
a i^ast generation. Yes, one other, but of more 
modern date, remains — the church still standing 
on the corner of Laight and Varick streets, orig- 
inallj^ under tiie pastorate of the venerable Sam- 
uel H. Cox. This eloquent Presbyterian minister, 
who has been one of the bright lights of the New 
York pulpit for half a century, still hves, but 
though mellowed by age, is yet equal to the task 
of enchaining an audience by his thrilling flow of 
language when roused by the grandeur of his 
theme. In early life he was impulsive, by some 
considered erratic ; his fast-rushing thoughts were 
not unfitly compared to chain lightning. He was 
among the earliest to embark in the Abolition 
movement, and as he did nothing by halves te 
brought on himself and on the church in which 
he preached a visitation from the riotous crew, 
who were opposed to this new political, religious 
crusade. He was hooted on the street and in the 
pulpit, and for a time suffered an eclipse, but he 
lived through the troublesome period, and has 
since had host of admu-ers, not to call them wor- 
shijDpers, of his transcendent talent. 

But back again to our promenade, to take a 
glance at some of the characters of the time and 
become excited by 'Chq din of the stages that rat- 
tle over the cobble stones. There were individ- 
uals daily seen on Broadway who would be un- 
noticed in the present crowd, but at a time wlien 
each man knew his neighbor, when a strange face 
was remarked, an odd costume the subject of 
comment and nmch surmise. Characters! were 



KhnCKERBOCKER LIFE, 129 

objects of real interest Prominent among them 
was McDonald Clarke, familiarly known as the 
^'mad poet." He was of medium statui-e, far 
from unattractive in person, harmless and inof- 
fensive in manner. His raiment was what would 
be termed "shabby genteel," but there was some- 
thing magnetic about the man which especially 
excited interest in his behalf. He affected a care- 
less, swaggering gait in keeping with his general 
make-up, and his unbuttoned " Byronic " shirt- 
collar looked peculiarly odd when contrasted 
with prim majority of his fellows. He lounged 
^bout the street, assuming an abstracted air, with 
his gaze fixed upon the pavement as if weighed 
down by some poignant sorrow. AVhen audibly 
addressed by an acquaintance he returned the 
salute as if suddenly aroused from a deep sleep, 
and, after a faint smile of recognition, would re- 
lapse into his accustomed brown study. How 
'^'^es he live ? was the oft-repeated question pi*o- 
pounded by sympathetic woman. "Would the 
unfortunate gentleman accept of some gratuity ? 
was not unfrequently added, as the melanchol;y 
genius was on his accustomed tramp, intently 
seeking for something he was never to find on 
earth. McDonald Clarke never suffered for food 
while there was anything in Windust's store- 
room, neither did he lack a few shillings to 
jingle in his pocket, for he unostentatiously min- 
gled with the generous set, whose motto, " Let 
us live by the way," included the mad poet within 
its range. From time to time fugitive pieces over 
Ms signature appeared in print ; they were all 
written in the love-sick, melancholy strain, and 



130 LAST DA YS OF 

they confirmed the popular belief that unrequiteJ 
love had clouded his brain. After his death some 
kind-hearted friend collected and published bis 
verses, and humanely devoted the proceeds by 
erecting a monument to his memory in a secluded 
nook at Greenwood, where, after "life's fitful 
fever, he sleeps well." 

Another character, but of a different type, was 
by common consent christened the Ginger-Bread 
Man. This singular specimen was a harmless 
lunatic, and mainly noticeable fi'om the pecu- 
liar form his madness assumed. His name and 
history were unknown, and if he had relatives or 
acquaintances, even in the city, they never owned 
him before men ; for no one has been seen to 
recognize or accost him on the street. This 
oddity derived the name by which he was known 
from his only visible article of diet, viz. : Ginger 
Bread, He was a man of powerful frame, with a 
ruddy countenance, denoting the highest health, 
and would be pronounced agreeable to look at 
His dress was invariably a rusty black suit, dis» 
colored by continuous profuse perspii'ation, for 
he never was seen to walk Summer or Winter, 
but was always on a round jog-trot, as if intent 
on some mission of vital import. The pockets of 
his dress or " swallow-tail " coat were used as 
receptacles for his food, and seemed to contain 
QX\ inexhaustable supply of the ginger cake upon 
which he made continuous drafts, which were 
passed to his mouth with an eager motion, indi- 
cative of craving hunger. His course was up and 
down Broadway, never stopping, except when 
one of the tea-water pumps was reached, where 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 131 

he would regale liimself with a bountiful draught 
of pure spring water, refill his capacious mouth 
with the chosen staff of life, and start afresh on 
his crazy tramp, after fhai something wliich al- 
ways seemed to be a little ahead of the unfortu- 
nate but determined creature. All at once he 
was missed fi*om his accustomed place. One en- 
quired of another as to his probable whereabouts. 
No one knew, so the Ginger-Bread Man passed 
away as he had Hved — an unsolved mystery. 

A third common, yet uncommon sight, was a 
weird member of the human family, who, by 
reason of always being covered with lime from 
head to foot, was appropriately designated as the 
Lime-Kiln Man. This tall, gaunt, cadaverous 
figure was usually clad in the loose cotton garb 
of a laborer, bespattered with Hme; his uncut, 
uncombed locks were matted by constant contact 
with the same material, which also besmeared 
his long attenuated face and imparted to his 
" tout ensemble " a haggard expression not easily 
obhterated. Though he was the personification 
of the most abject poverty, this singular mortal 
was not a professional beggar; he was never 
known to solicit alms on the street or elsewhere, 
and he even gave no heed to the gaze of those 
who with pitying eye looked upon him as a fit 
object for succor; but instead, he stalked de- 
murely on, as if unconscious of all surroundings. 
From what nationality he sprang, upon what 
means or special charity he subsisted, was never 
divulged. All the speculations about his being 
some distinguished exile, etc., were only nursery 
tales that excited wonderment among the prafc- 



132 LAST DAYS OF 

tling Knickerbockers. After some years of mys- 
terious sojourn in our midst, the singular appari- 
tion was found dead in a lime kiln on the banks 
of the Hudson, which rumor asserted had been 
his nightly resting-place. At his death, the 
papers furnished the usual number of conjectures 
as to his antecedents and habits of life, but they 
were fancy sketches having no foundation in fact. 
Dandy Cox was still another of our Broadway 
sights. This Cox was a good-looking, showy mu- 
latto, who had selected the occupation of renova- 
ting gentlemen's clothing as a means of support, 
and to all outward appearance had a thriving 
trade. He was a caricature on the ruling fash- 
ions of the time, and with the aping propensi- 
ties of his race was most successful in taking off 
the notables who affected 8tyle. Cox drove a 
spirited horse, sometimes hitched to a Hght 
wagon, but more frequently to a two- wheeled 
Stanhope, then considered an elegant vehicle, but 
which now would be considered as a liorse killer, 
and entitled to the instant attention of President 
Bergh. He was always alive to the fact that he 
was a primary object of attention, and, darkey 
like, was equal to any emergency. His seat was 
as high pitched as possible, his well-brushed 
beaver cocked at the precise angle, his green 
jockey coat carefully arranged, so as to display 
every brass button, his wash-leather gloves sj^ot- 
less, his whip held by the centre, after the most 
approved cockney style, his elbows well up to 
gain a surer purchase on the fractious steed — his 
little nigger playing the tiger with the marked 
ability of a monkey — in fine, no modern nostrum 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 133 

vender can vie with Dandy Cox, if viewed in the 
light of an advertising medium. All the news- 
papers of his day could not have added one jot 
to his fame. 



CHAPTER ELEVENTH. 

Gotham liad stages or omnibuses, few in num- 
ber, but that deficiency was amply compensated 
by their proportions and decorations. These 
imposing conveyances were severally named after 
celebrated men and women, and it was consid- 
ered not an every-day affair to take a ride in the 
George Washington, Lady Washington, General 
Lafayette, Benjamin Franklin, De Witt CHnton, 
Thomas Jefferson, etc., for their names were em- 
blazoned on the sides in " characters of living 
light." These ponderous ambulances were pro- 
pelled by four prancing steeds, and the several 
*' whips " who engineered them were well-known 
to every urchin who pretended the slightest 
claim to respectability, for these men were looked 
up to as important personages in our little world. 
The route for the Broadway lines was from 
the BowHng Green to Bond street, but if it 
chanced to rain very hard, and there was a lady 
in question, the courteous "Yorke" would gallantly 
drive his four creams as far north as the Kipp 
Mansion, then on the site now occupied by the 
New York Hotel. These celebrated stages did 
not all belong to one man; there were three dis- 
tinct proprietors, and there was no inconsiderable 
rivalry, which fact invested them with an unusual 
amount of interest, en£?endered by theu- strife for 



LAST DA I ^S OF KNICKERB O CKER LIFE. 135 

popularity and patronage. Wicked little boys 
would bet apples that Brower's General Wash- 
ington would beat Jones' Thomas Jefferson, and 
find takers that Colvill's Benjamin Franklin 
would distance the pair, so that on a Saturday 
afternoon Broadway became a race course on a 
moderate scale, and the unfortunate losers were 
twitted on their lack of judgment in horseflesh, 
or their folly in putting faith in certain tricky or 
incompetent drivers. 

Abraham Brower's stables were on Broadway, 
opposite Bond streei, mere shells of sheds run- 
ning through to Mercer street, for anything was 
then considered good enough for a horse, and his 
one or two carriages and wagons had become 
weather-proof from long exposure. Evan Jones 
housed his stages on White street, while Colvill 
held out on Grand, just east of Broadway, where 
he was so cramped for space that Benjamin 
Franklin and De Witt Clinton were compelled to 
rest out doors after their daily labor. Land waa 
cheap, like the Irishman's potatoes, but capital 
was limited, and the hvery business a risky un- 
dertaking, though it was a well-known fact that 
if a gentleman who did not own an establishment 
desired to drive out with a lady, he was com- 
pelled to scour the city and give a day or two's 
notice to secure one of the few vehicles that a 
fair one would be willing to ride in during day- 
light. The fare on these Broadway lines was one 
shilling, but it was not, as at present, passed up 
through a hole, to reach which a man is com- 
pelled to fake unwarrantable risks, either endan- 
gering his own limbs or else inflicting serious 



136 LAST DAYS OF 

injuries upon the understandings of fellow pas- 
sengers. The shilling was handed on entej-ing 
or leaving to a small boy perched outside at the 
end of the stage, who acted in the capacity of a 
modern car conductor. Whether this youth 
divided square, i. e., between the proprietor, 
driver and himself, is not known. History is 
silent on this point; but certain it is that no great 
wealth flowed into the coffers of the trio who bat- 
tled for the privilege of riding people up and 
down Broadway at a shilling apiece. 

There was j^et another stage line, which started 
from the corner of Pine and Nassau streets, 
through Broadway to Canal, from thence wandered 
away up Hudson street, past gardens and mead- 
ows, until at last Greenwich Village was reached. 
These accomodations came to a dead Whoa ! at 
Charles street, where was the stable of Asa Hall, 
who, between making hats in Greenwich street 
near Dey, and carrying people in his stages at 
twenty-five cents each, became ''full handed,'' and 
sold out the Greenwich line to two young enter- 
prising men, who afterwards became prominent 
as the firm of Kij^p & Brown. Few men of his 
day were better known or more widely respected 
than the genial, warm-hearted Sol Kipp. His 
purse was always open in response to the call of 
charity; his name at the head of subscriptions; 
in fun or frolic Sol was on hand, well knowing 
that his bright face and white cravat would re- 
ceive a hearty welcome in any gathering of his 
fellow citizens. Though lavish in expenditure, 
ample means seemed ever at his command to 
gratify a wish or reheve a friend in dislrecss, and 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 137 

it was not until the projection of the Eio-lith 
Avenue Eaikoad, which covered the whole line 
of his remunerative route, that misfortune over- 
took him. For years, in connection with his 
patrons, he battled in the courts against the rich 
monopoly, but finally George Law and his mil- 
lions told against him in the scales, and Kij^p 
found himself poor and of course friendless. 
This generous man who was for so long a period 
the life and soul of the " Village " where, in pros- 
perity, his will was law, can now occasionally be 
seen tottering v,ith age along Hudson street, 
unnoticed by the passing crowd and, sad to sayl 
almost unknown in a neighborhood where only a 
few years since he was greeted with a smile of 
recognition by every youngster who played mar- 
bles or spun a top in the district. 

On the north-east corner of Broadway and 
Grand Street stood the Broadway House, a much 
frequented barroom which derived its chief 
patronage from the fact that the place was the 
Whig headquarters of the city and county when 
that party held power, and its committee dis- 
pensed the Federal and State patronage. At 
that time such men as Cadwallader D. Golden, 
Philip Hone, Walter Brown, Gideon Lee, Cor- 
nelius W. Lawrence, Aaron Clark, Joseph N. 
Barnes, the father-in-law of Oakey Hall, Nat 
Blunt, Frederick A. Tallmadge, Moses H. Grin- 
nell, WiUiam Paulding, Philip W. Engs and 
others " nobile fratrum," were leading politicians, 
and were sought for to accept office at the hands 
of their constituents. There always has been 
wiie-pulhng in pohtics, hot-brained partisans. 



138 LAST DA YS OF 

noisy followers in the ranks of faction; money 
was always required to work the machinery, and 
on the near aj^proach of election stump orators 
were in demand, as well as quantities of " the 
ardent " to excite hope and brighten the blaze of 
patriotism. All this was so even in Knicker- 
bocker times ; still up to the close of Knicker- 
bocker rule the rough and rowdy had no part or 
lot in the political organization of the day, and 
the nominees for positions were selected with 
reference to their fitness and qualification for 
office. Honor, not salary or fees, was the aim of 
candidates, and, even strange as it may appear 
to-day, the prefix of Alderman to a man's name 
did not imply that he was an adept in schemes 
to enrich himself at the expense of every manly 
attribute. Better still, in Knickerbocker days a 
seat on the Bench was a proud position; it was 
coveted by the wisest and best men at the bar; 
it was an independent tenure, free from the en- 
tanglements incident to nominations at primary 
meetings, and it was unembarrassed by promises 
and associations which must too often shield the 
guilty and thus defeat the ends of justice. 

*' Here's to you, Harry Clay," was one of the 
rallying cries of the old line Whigs who met at 
the Broadway House for a grand pow-wow, when, 
in lieu of a calcium light, a tar barrel and a few 
pine knots served all the purposes of illumination, 
while the intricate tariff question was being 
ventilated by a pet orator, who had been intro- 
duced and endorsed as sound by Prosper M. 
Wetmore, ere he was lifted on some stray hogs- 
head especially captured for the occasion by Bill 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 139 

Harrington and Bill Poole who belonged to this 
aristocratic wing of patriots. 

Clay and Frelingliuysen were the last great 
standard bearers of the old Whig party, and dur- 
ing that memorable canvass the Broadway House 
was thronged with their zealous adherents. On 
the day of election, as the returns were received 
from point after point, a Whig triumph seemed 
assured ; the odds were ^'■Any thing you like,' 
money flowed like water in and about headquar- 
ters — the excitement rose to fever heat, and tlie 
air resounded with wild cheers for Harry Clay, 
whose magnetic power made him not merely the 
idol of his own j^arty, but of the country at large. 
When evening came, "assurance was doubly sure," 
and an impromptu procession was formed, and a 
yelling crowd swept up Broadway to bear the 
glad tidings to Frelinghuysen, who was tempora- 
rily stopping with a friend in Washington Place. 
The supposed Vice-President elect responded to 
the enthusiastic call, and the welkin rang with 
continuous cheers for the "Star of the West." 
During the night, sleep was banished from the 
city, for the Whigs were drunk with joy. With 
the morning Hght, however, came tidings that 
New York State had proved recreant to her prom- 
ises, and success had hinged upon its vote. The 
jubilant Clay men soon subsided, and the hither- 
to quiet opposition noiselessly pocketed the long 
odds, flung out their banner from the flag staff of 
old Tammany, and chuckled merrily over their 
too sanguine adversaries. This defeat dimmed 
the glory of the Broadway House — its lights went 
out, that is to say, the leaders who had given it 



140 LAST DAYS OF 

its prestige sought new and more promising pas- 
tures. Some afiiliated with the Loco-focos, while 
the majority embraced the "isms" generated by 
the Abohtion CUque, who had defeated Harry Clay 
in what was supposed to be his stronghold, and 
who have now risen to power as the dominant 
Kepublican paity. 

Vauxhall Garden, a favorite resort for the dem- 
ocratic masses, occupied most of the block of 
ground now bounded by Fourth avenue, Lafay- 
ette place, Fourth street and Astor place. This 
extensive plot was surrounded by a high board 
fence, with a main entrance on Fourth avenue^ 
opposite Sixth street. It was taste. uUy laid out 
iu garden walks, shaded by a fine growth of for- 
est trees, and ornamented by beds of shrubs and 
flowers. Small neatly fitted up boxes to repre- 
sent mystic bowers were ranged along the fences, 
for the special accommodation of female visitors 
who desired refreshments, while benches and 
chairs were scattered under the trees for the use 
of male patrons who chose to sip their brandy and 
smoke their ^rmcipe in the open air. In the cen- 
tre of the space a large wooden shed, scarcely 
worthy to be called a building, had been erected 
for the purposes of a show, and it was occasional- 
ly used by a strolling company of actors, who 
charged a small fee for admission. It was occa- 
sionally changed into an impromptu ball-room, 
but a rather questionable band of music, with 
some inexpensive fireworks to amuse the children, 
were the staple attractions of the place. Vaux- 
hall was out of town, it was considered a healthy 
romping place, and as the price of admission was 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 141 

nominal and the charges lor refreshments moder- 
ate, on fine afternoons and holidays it was crowd- 
ed with women and children. As the city grew, 
it became a favorite spot for mass meetings of 
every description, and the stamping ground of 
the huncomhe orators. It was the theatre of the 
Slievegammon excitement; it was there that Bar- 
num began his eaiiiest raids as the leader in 
humbug, and if dame Eumor speaks true, the 
celebrated mermaid, one of his crowning frauds, 
was manufactured in Vauxhall Garden under the 
critical eye of the Prince of Showmen. Lot by 
lot it was gradually shorn of its proportions; 
dwellings were erected on Lafayette place, and 
the owners of the ground found profit in small 
stores on the avenue, so that years before its final 
destruction it had dwindled into a mere billiard 
and drinking saloon, though it retaioed its origi- 
nal name to the end, Bradford Jones, a well- 
known popular host, was its last lessee; hs en- 
deavored to keep alive its ancient prestige by the 
aid of cheap concerts, negro minstrelsy and calico 
balls, but he was rewarded with only small re- 
turns, and soon after the Astor place riot, v/hen 
the ill-advised partisans of Forrest and Macready 
so disgracefully distinguished themselves, and the 
Vauxhall billiard tables had served as a resting 
place for the mutilated victims of that murderous 
affray, its doors were finally closed, and Bradford 
Jones sought another field of labor. 

Barnum's name recalls the fact that Knicker- 
bocker New York could boast of two mu- 
seums. The most imposing of these was the 
American, founded by John Scudder, and occu- 



142 LAST DAYS OF 

pying the prominent site where the New York Her^ 
old building now stands. Its varied collections 
were displayed in four long rooms, each one hun- 
dred feet long, and from its observatory might be 
enjoyed some of the finest views of the beautiful 
bay and surrounding country. Peale's was situ- 
ated on Broadv/ay, opposite the park, and was a 
counterpart of the other in everything save di- 
mensions. Both of these establishments were 
real museums, not designed as convenient ren- 
dezvous for intrignie, but clean, silent, systematic 
places for serious contemplation, and the study 
of the wonders and eccentricities of nature. Chil- 
dren on crossing the thresholds of these temples 
dedicatedrto science were awe-stricken by the 
sight presented, and clung tremblingly to their 
grandmothers for protection while gazing upon 
the trophies which had been culled from every 
nook of the civilized and barbarian world. These 
museums would have been pronounced dupHeates 
by a casual observer. Each had on exhibition 
the wax presentment of Daddy Lambert, and this 
historic fat man was caged by well authenticated 
representatives of heroes, criminals and murder- 
ers, whose romantic or villainous deeds had long 
been immortalized in nursery rhyme; so this wax 
department, when each figure had been pointed 
out and duly described by grandmother, was a 
grand attraction to youthful pilgrims in search of 
knowledge. Next in order of interest came the 
horrible boa constrictors, who were cruelly fed 
before our eyes with innocent live chickens and 
rabbits. During the process of his snakeship's 
meal the ears of the terrified young ones were wide 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 143 

open-to listen, as ttie bland keeper gave an ac» 
curate statement as to what these monstrous rep- 
tiles would do if they only had the chance, and 
we timidly calculated in primary rules of arith- 
metic what power of resistance the slim wire bars 
could offer should the boa resolve to change his 
steady diet and try a taste of baby by wa}^ of va- 
riety. So we slunk away from possible danger 
to feast our eyes upon the benign countenance of 
the Father of his Country, satisfied from early 
education that even his features on canvass were 
a sure protection against all assailants. 

The portrait of Washington was surrounded 
by a bevy of notables: NajDoleon, Franklin, Perm, 
Christopher Columbus, Jefferson, Madison, Sir 
Walter Ealeigh, Queen Elizabeth, &c., backed up 
by way of nationality by the imaginary heads of 
Indian chiefs, who massacred and scalped our 
forefathers and /o?'emothers with their innocent 
babes, who had never done them any harm ex- 
cept to give them fire loater and glass beads for 
their lands and rich fijrs. Next came a wonder- 
ful mummy, with the precise date of its sepul- 
ture marked on a piece of parchment, yellow with 
time or by reason of some chemical appliance. 
Indian war clubs, bows and arrows of curious 
workmanship, canoes of bark and hide,- scalps of 
unfortunate pilgrims, dried bones of all sizes and 
shapes, ostrich eggs suspended fi'om the ceiling, 
old pennies arranged in glass cases, a piece* 
of the frigate Constitution, the signature of 
John Hancock, some specimens of Continental 
money, but any quantity of large and small stones 
duly labeled and designated in a body as the CaJth 



144 LAST DAYS OF 

inet of Minerahy <»vej' which <^iir ciders linpfered 
long, and expatiated in grateful terms on the en- 
terprise of the proprietor who gave them such a 
rare scientific treat at so little cost, i. e., twenty- 
five cents, children half price; and the latter were 
considered as such for a much longer period than 
in this advanced age, — a boy of eighteen in a long 
tailed coat and high hat would have been the 
butt of his companions. 

Each of these museums prided itself upon the 
attractions ofi'ered by its Lecture Eoom, where at 
a stated hour in the afternoon and evening an 
enthusiastic professor of something would learn- 
edly hold forth on a subject about which he knew 
but little, but well aware of the fact th it his slim 
audience knew less if possible. If the writer is 
not greatly mistaken, the theory of mesmerism 
was first broached in this country at Pe ale's Mu- 
seum ; at all events, it is certain that it was in 
that lecture room he listened to a pale-faced, gold- 
spectacled individual, who ventilated himself in 
the same disconnected, nonsensical strain which 
is now characteristic of the modern professor of 
spirit-rapping necromancy — a strain which has at 
first befogged, and eventually destroyed so many 
generous, brilliant men and women, wrecked 
multitudes of once happy homes, and materially 
aided in populating the lunatic asylums of the 
country. 

• But neither Scudder nor Peale confined them- 
selves to dark-lantern isms; they did not pay in 
those hard-working, practical days, when people 
gave a wide berth to everything which did not 
commend itself to sound common sense, so they 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 145 

were compelled to cater to the taste of that large 
class, who while they enjoyed occasional amuse- 
ment, had been educated to the belief that the 
theater was " the gate of hell ;" the term was used 
from the pulpit, and what the Dominie said, must 
be true. So the devil was " whipped round the 
stump," and grandfather and grandmother would 
take the children on Wednesday afternoon, for 
that was a stated school holiday, to the Museum 
Lecture Room, and the dear old people would 
laugh till they cried at the oddities and witticisms 
on that miniature stage, never for a moment 
dreaming that they had entered the portals of 
Inferno, and were surrounded by the fumes of 
sulphur and brimstone. 

A popular celebrity of the time who was fre- 
quently engaged to appear at the Lecture Room 
was a comical genius named Hill, who was the 
acknowledged personator of the darned, down- 
caster stage Yankee, with short striped trowsers, 
long straps, lank hair, immense shirt collar, white 
hat, shuffling gait, jack knife, whittling stick and 
drawl. Hill's imitation was pronounced perfect, 
and by common consent he was long known as 
Yankee Hill. His performance was a monologue 
and was made up of long spun yarns: How Jona- 
than courted Charity Jones while peeline: apples 
or shelling chicken feed by the kitchen fire; 
Deacon Swift's horse swap; Aunt Tabithy's tea 
scrape; Bui'lesque Fourth of July orations, inter- 
spersed with popular melodies sung with a pecul- 
iar nasal twang which elicited roars of laughter. 

Daddy Rice, the originator of the now popu- 
lar negro minstrelsy was another great ca.rd at 



146 LAST DA YS OF KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 

the Lecture Eoom; his celebrated "Jump Jim 
Crow" was carolled by all the jolly boys and pert 
servant girls in Gotham and for many years these 
and similar entertainments sufficed to satisfy the 
patrons of the museums. By degrees, however, 
the strict barriers of demarcation were one by 
one withdrawn, and when Barnum became pro- 
prietor of the American, and Peale was absorbed, 
he enlarged the stage, expanded the dimensions 
of the Lecture Eoom and introduced one after 
another the dreadful appliances of the " Devil's 
School of Ethics " without disturbing the con- 
sciences of sensitive audiences, who could still 
go to the museum and laugh or cry over the 
veriest sensation trash, but would not dare to be 
seen in a temple devoted to the highest flights of 
the legitimate drama. Barnum discovered that 
pious dollars would purchase full as much in the 
open market as could be bought with an equal 
number which had passed through the grip of 
the ungodly. He crowded his Lecture Room by 
bringing out high moral dramas which he pufled 
as illustrated sermons in disguise, sugar-coated 
pills; and the numbers converted by them, at 
an outlay of fifty cents each, can be approximated 
by ascertaining the cost of Ivanistan and the value 
of the many prominent pieces of proj^erty in New 
York and elsewhere registered in the name of the 
distinguished temperance lecturer. 



CHAPTEE TWELFTH. 

When the population of New York City wag 
about two hundred thousand, Society, to use the 
word in its modern application, was not subdi- 
vided as at present. Active eoaployment was a 
necessity for all men; sloth was a bar to respect- 
ability. There were some "retired men," as they 
are now styled ; but as a rule extreme age or 
chronic infirmity was the cause which forced ttem 
to abandon an active life. The occupation, call- 
ing or trade of each man was known to his neigh- 
bor; for the mysterious ways by which fortunes 
are now gained without visible continuous labor, 
had not been discovered. Industry, punctuality, 
frugality, with a strict conformity to popular 
sentiment formed the basis of credit, which was 
all important to success, for this credit was the 
main capital of a large majority of merchants and 
tradesmen. 

The city could boast of some few capitalists, 
but with the exception of two or three, where 
wealth was computed by hundreds of thousands, 
the principal of the balance would not equal the 
amount which thousands now expend annually in 
the maintenance of their princely homes. The 
church, the bar, medicine, the arts and sciences 
Lad each many eminent representatives in the 
community; men who were looked up to with 
that deferential respect which always has and ever 

147 



148 LAST DA YS OF 

will be awarded to those lives and talents are de- 
voted to the study of social progress. Yet even 
these did not assume to constitute themselves in- 
to a Seclusion Coterie. The merchant came next, 
but the dividing line between store and shop was 
not so distinctly drawn as now; the status of em- 
ployer and employee was less closely defined, the 
latter not unfrequently being an inmate, and ever 
a welcome guest at the home of his employer. 
Then came that large class known as mechanics, 
who with their journeymen, apprentices and la- 
borers, has always formed so formidable a pro- 
portion of every city, and where success is mainly 
dejDendent on the demand for the thousand wants 
and luxuries which spring into Toeing as labor ac- 
cumulates capital. The simple necessaries of life 
requu'e but little skill or toil for their production, 
and as liome manufactures satisfied the Knicker- 
bocker ta«te, fancy artificers met with only limited 
employment. Loungers or non-producers were 
marked persons at a time when " Early to bed 
and early to rise" was a ruling motto, and "to 
work while dayli-ght lasts," w^as the governing 
habit from the learned professional man to the 
humblest artizan. Thrift, rigid conformity Avith 
social law, undeviating probity constituted the 
prime essentials to respectability. 

Comfortable independence a&sumed cordial wel- 
come by one class to the other, and reaUy no 
aristocracy existed or was claiined, save where 
the distinction was cheerfully awarded to the 
cuUivated and refined, but without the slightest 
roference to a pf^cuniary standard. There were 
virclcs naturally formed by congeniality of tastes 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 149 

and similarity of daily occupation which could not 
be entered by a mere golden key, the applicant 
for admission must possess the requisite affinities 
and bear about him the unmistakable evidences 
which, the world over proclaim the gentleman by 
sentiment and education. This idea of aristoc- 
racy pervaded Gotham and was derived from the 
staunch Knickerbocker stock; it underlied and 
formed the foundation of New York Society. 
The good old fathers and their madames were 
great sticklers for form and ceremony ; their 
ruffles and' cuffs were starched, and unwittingly 
imparted to the wearers an air of dignified com- 
posure that would check the merest approach to 
familiarity from their juniors, and kept even equals 
at a respectful distance. " Pater and Materfami- 
lias" exacted the most implicit obedience from 
their offspring " even unto the third generation,'* 
while dependents and servants of every grade 
recognized Master and Mistress as if by intuition. 
This dignity was maintained even though they 
might be compelled to exercise the most rigid 
economy in the details appertaining to home. 
This home was an heirloom, not valued in the 
light of an estate to be converted into money, but 
priceless as having been the ancestral abode ; no 
matter how humble in dimensions or appoint- 
ments. The idea of change in the massive, bulky fur- 
niture was never dreamed of, continuous use only 
made each familiar piece more highl}^ prized; a 
fixed abode and a consistent, unvarying mode of 
living entered strongly into the I^ickerbocker no- 
tion of family pride or aristocracy, they abhorred 
everything vaccilating, they looked with distrust 



150 LAST DAYS OF 

on such as were here to-day and stayed somo- 
■where else to-morrow, deeming they possessed no 
teiTestrial anchorage upon which to base any 
claim to resi3ectability. The social circle was 
made up Irom friendships rather than by mere 
acquaintances, and while there was no lack of 
hospitality there was a seclusive sanctity attached 
to the idea of home which bound it efiectually 
against any who were not duly accredited as 
worthy. 

Parental rule was supreme in the home and the 
power was not rehnquished or even delegated 
while life lasted. It was founded on the patri- 
archal system; agreeable or distasteful it was law, 
and no juvenile quibble could avail in circum- 
venting it. The head of the family reigned su- 
preme in matters both great and small; in the 
kitchen and in the parlor; in income and expen- 
diture; in fact, one brain and one purse regulated 
the domestic pendulum. Father or mother, or 
both, were in the parlor. The miss who had sug- 
gested the propriety of their spending the evening 
in dining-room or basement would, on the instant, 
have been awarded ample time for serious reflec- 
tion in the seclusion of her chamber, and the 
mader in roundabout had to make special arrange- 
ments of the most confidential character with 
Betty, as to which basement window should be 
left unbarred when the youth was seized with a 
fi'eak of dissipation and had resolved to defy the 
ten o'clock mandate and stay out till eleven, for 
when the old clock on the stairs struck ten, guest 
or guests quietly dej^arted, or the}^ would have 
received a denionstratwe hint by the closing of in- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 151 

Bide shut'ers and a general preparation to retire. 
Parties, even among the most affluent, were not 
of frequent occurrence; stated reception days or 
evenings were not needed, for visiting had not 
been reduced to an empty ceremony. Duiing 
usual hours and at proper seasons the ladies of 
New York were to be found at home ready to re- 
ceive their friends, and if they were not attired in 
elaborate Parisian toilets, their unpowdered, 
blooming faces were wreathed with smiles of wel- 
come. 

On grand occasions, a wedding for instance, 
some pretentious preparations were indulged in; 
written invitations were issued, scientific outside 
aid was secui'ed, so that Cornelia's bridal feast 
should compare favorably with that of her cousui 
Maiw, which had been pronounced "sa?is re- 
proche" by a jury of family aunties, who being 
rehcs of revolutionary sires were conceded to be 
posted, and from whose judgment in such, and in 
fact in all matters, there was no appeal.- EveA 
Jackson, the renowned colored caterer of the d^y, 
whose headquarters were in an obscure basement 
on Howard Street, and who assumed a thousand 
airs when waiting upon ordinary customers, most 
deferentially deferred to the dignified but firmly 
expressed opinions of these courtly dames; for if 
he had dared to differ from or oppose their wish- 
es, these stately matrons could summon up a look 
and assume a manner and tone which would for 
the time have weakened a much more formidable 
individual than the pompous Jackson, who was, 
however, reported to take sweet revenge for these 
aristocratic snubs by lording it over those unfor- 



152 LAST DA YS OF 

tunate customers -svho could boast of no tliree" 
story aunties who knew exactly what they wanted, 
and insisted upon not only having it, but in their 
own way, and not one word back. 

Whittingham furnished the bridal robe, which 
custom ordained should be of white satin, with 
the slightest possible tinge of yellow to iiuj^art 
richness. The waist was styled a bodice, slifi 
and unyielding as its definition implies, termin- 
ating in sharp points before and behind, and laced 
to an almost stifling pressure. It was cut very 
low in the neck and shoulders and ornamented 
with a deep fall of rich blonde lace; the sleeves 
were tight and reaching only to the elbow, ter- 
minated by ample frills of lace extending to the 
waist; the skirt just touched the instep, but was 
so full behind as to rival the most imposing 
panier of a modern beUe. Martell, the coiffeur, 
appeared on the scene early in the day to per- 
form his part in the wonderful make up; by his 
skill he caused each particular hair to perform 
its whole duty, ere the three high-reaching bows 
on the top of the head were satisfactorily built 
up; and when the coronet of artificial orange 
blossoms, which sustained the blonde lace veil, 
was duly adjusted the sun was fast sinking in the 
West; so by the time Lane's white satin boots 
had been laced and the six buttoned gloves were 
worked on and secured, the bridesmaids, groom 
and groomsmen had arrived. 

The bridesmaids were counterparts of their 
temporary mistress, save that their wreaths were 
of artificial roses, and no veil enshrouded the 
fair forms. The groom and his aids were mag- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 153 

nificent in blue coats, brass buttons, bigh white 
satin stocks, ruffled shirt bosoms, figured satin 
vests, silk stockings and pumps, with their front 
hair tightly frizzed by Maniort in the highest 
style of tonsorial art. 

Greenhouses were few and not over-abundantly 
stocked. One modern order would have swept 
them all for the season, and the extent of private 
conservatories was limited to a row of geraniums 
and monthly roses; in other words, limited by 
the capacity of the basement window sills, so 
that the floral display during Winter was far 
from being either extensive or extravagant. The 
enthusiastic gvooui was often compelled to make 
up the sad deficiency in the quality of his bridal 
bouquet by a lavish investment in the gilt and 
pearl holder which invariably accompanied it, for 
after diligent search among all the collections 
of plants in the family circle the precious thing 
culminated in a bountiful array of green leaves 
with a sickly rosebud or two as a grand central 
attraction. When such proved the insurmount- 
able difficulty, the blushing bridesmaids were 
compelled to gaze abstractedly on their fans, 
which being of celestial Chinese manufacture, 
were profusely ornamented with the most elabor- 
ate counterfeits of rare exotics. 

The lack of flowers and nick-nacks was amply 
compensated for by the substantial profusion of 
the supper table. The bride's cake, of formidable 
proportions, was the grand centrepiece. It was 
made at home, so solid and rich in its intricate 
composition that it improved by age, and it was 
cut into such generous sHces and so liberally 



154 LAST DA YS OF 

dispensed that a piece wculd serve for tlie dreams 
of a wliole family. It was very different from 
the sickly looking substitute now immured in 
minute paper coffins, wbicli so soon crumbles 
into tasteless dust. Solids and dainties were 
lavishly spread on the board; hams, chickens, 
turkeys, and often game, glass dishes of rich 
home-made preserves, high china fruit stands 
loaded with lady apples, oranges, Malaga grapes, 
raisins, nuts, mottoes made up under home super- 
vision, the candy, SLuart's best, and the sentiments 
eminently proper; a towering form of Contoit's 
vanilla, brandy peaches of a flavor to make a 
temperance orator bound with joy, piles of cake 
of every known variety from the humble cruller 
to the most delicate wafer jumble. The dining 
room floor was not flooded with a reckless waste 
of champagne, though the sharp snap of the fly- 
ing cork was heard distinctly amid the jovial din; 
Madeira, port and sherry were plentifully dis- 
pensed to enUven the marriage feast. Wax 
candles and astral lamps shed a mellow light 
from every nook where a silver candlestick could 
stand. All was life. Grandmother and our aunties 
were there, radiant in the full regalia of b^^gone 
days, stiff in ancient brocades, formidable in their 
towering caps, tortoise shell combs, powdered 
puffs and lace capes. Erect, composed, filled 
with self-esteem and self-assertion, they renewed 
their youth at these gatherings by a unanimous 
accord that earthly grandeur would pass away 
when they were summoned from the stage of 
life. It was a study to note the glance of dis- 
dainful pity with which they scanned the puny 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, . 155 

youngsters from the conceded post oi honor, aad 
at the same time exacting the most courteous 
attention from child and visitor. Better, per- 
haps, would it be for the present generation had 
that feudal system never been broken up; the 
restraints it imposed were morally healthful, for 
dignity instead of lawless frivolity reigned in the 
home circle when society paid deference to age. 
There was a marked difference between an 
invitation "/o take tea'' and an invitation "to spend 
the evening,'' Both signified that one should come 
early and not stay late; that is, come about seven 
and leave about ten. Neither involved the ne- 
cessity of full dress, though the swallow tail coat 
was so common an affair that frock* coats were 
the exception rather than the rule even for busi- 
ness, for the stereotype garment w^as worn for 
"Sunday go to meeting" and visits, until the 
seams presented a shiny appearance, when it was 
devoted to every day wear and was replaced by a 
new duplicate to serve its turn as " very best." 
This invitation to iake tea was an " en famille " 
entertainment, with some form, some ceremony, 
of course, but by contrast with the other it was 
informal and eminently comfortable. This even- 
ing meal, when the lire burned brightly in the 
cosy back parlor, was a delicious treat to the 
forlorn homeless bachelor, compelled to eke out 
an existence on boarding-house or even hotel 
fare. The tempting repast was artistically ar- 
ranged on a highly-polished mahogany table, 
under the immediate superintendence of the 
young ladies who prided themselves on this 
domestic accomplisJment. The family silver 



15(5 LAST DA YS OF 

urns and service, burnislied to the nicest point, 
looked grand wben surrounded by the shining 
white and gilt cups and saucers; the cake basket 
fairly groaned beneath its pyramid of dainty 
varieties; the cut glass dishes filled with luscious 
sweetmeats flanked by shortcake, biscuit, toast, 
dried beef, tongue, cheese, all ''fixed " in har- 
monious order. When all were duly seated 
around the inviting board, the fragrant steaming 
Bohea and Mocha had been poured out and dis- 
tributed, each one having been asked, tea or 
coffee ? sugar and cream ? by the presiding lady 
of the domain, cheerful chat ruled, and a more 
delightful hour never fell to the lot of mortal 
man to enjoy. No bustle, no confusion, no hurry 
hither and thither of servants; simple, pleasant 
prattle — possibly the slightest imaginable sprinkle 
of the latest " on dit" but that was quickly re- 
strained by a look from headquarters, lest any 
inconsiderate scandal should by the merest acci- 
dent emanate from that family circle. 

The female element usually predominated at 
the social tea parties, and no matter what special 
topics might casually be introduced, the great 
question raised in the Garden of Eden, what 
shall we wear? yet undisposed of, invariably 
came up for discussion. The dry goods stores 
were visited, patterns soHcited, and, further still, 
the trade was then so limited that whole pieces 
of material and " nouveautes " of value were sent 
to the homes of customers and allowed to remain 
for days to be critically passed upon, so that 
the final selection should be a deliberate act, not 
to be repented of. As an illustration: A now 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 157 

prominent importer received two Frencli Cash- 
mere shawls, pronounced the most exquisite pro- 
ductions of the loom. The im])ortant fact soon 
became noised abroad, and to possess one of 
these treasures was the rage of the hour, for with 
the then ruling moderate tone, the wearer would 
be distinguished " not for a day," but through 
long succeeding years. 

These much-coveted gems were by request 
sent to the residence of a lady, and after due de- 
liberation were purchased by two friends who 
were leaders in society; one, the wife of a promi- 
nent merchant whose ancestors held high rank in 
the councils of the nation, and the other, the 
mother of a distinguished divine and Chancellor 
of the University. Both shawls are still in the 
possession of their respective descendants, and 
are exhibited with more pride than the endless 
variptv nf costly wraps which tlioir nnlip-n*^"f1 
wealth has enabled them to purchase.* These 
cashmere shawls were worn with pride; why not ? 
they were known to be the only ones in the city. 
Philosophers may sermonize on the folly and sin- 
fulness of dress, but women pay but little heed 
to their lugubrious strains. Men may talk of 
" the lovely young Lavinia," so exquisitely una- 
dorned, but when they are taken unaw^ares by an 
elegantly dressed woman, their fine-spun theories 
vanish into thin air, and the coldest of them are 
forced to acknowledged that a well-crdered dress 
is a prodigious improvement to natural charms. 
Men do not pause to analyze their various emo- 
tions when in the presence of a woman they ad- 
mire; but if like the botanist they should destroy 



168 LAST. DAYS OF 

the lovely vision to lenrn its structure, tliey would 
find that not a little of their impression was due 
to the well-arranged costume. Men of culture 
and refinement feel a sense of safety in the house 
of a w^ell-dressed woman, which any amount of 
attention en the part of one carelessly attired 
would fail to engender. 

The true woman knows by intuition that the 
secret of her power lies in approj^riate costume, 
with decoration " costly as the purse can buy," 
and what woman is so conscientiously rich in 
personal magnetism that she can afford to lay 
aside the sceptre of her power ? for nothing so 
stamps the personality, and imbues the possessor 
with more respect than an habitual elegant attire. 
Especially in the i)resence of the young does it 
add to that sense of veneration which is the chief 
stronghold on the affections, and enables the 
mother to hold her elevating sv/ay over the im- 
petuosity of youth. Oiir grandmothers studied 
and appreciated this matter of dress, and that 
they turned it to good account is verified by the 
fact that they are not forgotten, — they still live in 
their stiff brocades and ruffs. They dressed for 
effect, and on all occasions evinced that satisfied 
confidence of manner which encircles a woman 
who feels herself ivell dressed; for affectation arises 
oftener from a dissatisfied idea of not looking 
well, than from any desire to ape the peculiarittes 
of another, and especially is this the case after the 
first bloom of j^outh has jDassed away. 

The invitation " to spend the evening " was a 
near approach to what would now be called a 
party. The routine comprised a dance, that is. 



■ KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 159 

the solemn cotiliiou, for tlie modern ''round 
dance" was considered even uncliaste on the ■ 
stage, and the modest " Augusta " was comi^elled 
to display the i3oetry of motion to admiring 
males alone. A song or two, " Gaily the Trouba- 
dour," "Home, Sweet Home," being chronic 
favorites, conversation, the last situation of the 
"Solitary Horseman," from the prolific pen of 
James, and '' refrei^hments handed around." This 
handing around refreshments was a most horrible 
invention, for it placed a diffident young man not 
only in a trying but in a critical position. To 
partake was a necessity; it would have been con- 
sidered impolite to decline. The recollection of 
the ordeal is frightful even now. One hand was 
occupied in steadying a cup of boiling hot tea or 
coffee, the other required to firmly grasp a plate 
piled with cake and sweetmeats, while close 
beside the bewildered beau sat a demure demois- 
elle expecting to be entertained wit-; a limpid 
flow of conversation. To sip the steaming fluid 
without spilling a drop was something of a task ; 
but to accomj)lish the feat while intently watch- 
ing the plate of liquid sweets, lest by an unlucky 
slant the contents should glide to trowsers and 
thence flow over the best Brussels, required a 
dexterity and a nerve which would reflect credit 
on the most expert juggler. The climax was 
reached when, as was frequently the case, the eye 
of a doting parent was scrutinizing every move- ' 
ment with an all-absorbing interest. The fearful 
performance seemed interminable ere one was 
relieved by the servant, who under instructions 
smilingly inquired if you would be helped to 



160 LAST DAYS OF 

arxftber li;ilf lioar of uieiilul ami physical «lis* 
coijifort. "No, I thank you; nothing more," >va3 
uttered in all sincerity accompanied by au inward 
prayer of thankfulness that the evening was spent 
without positive disaster. 

A writer in Fuinams, Monthly has discoursed 
eloquentl}'' on the magiiificeut entertainmeuta 
given in the manor houses of New York; at the 
Walton House, the Kipp Mansion, etc , in Dutch 
and Colonial times. He mentions the display of 
massive family silver emblazoned with coats of 
arms, and says an expensive and elegant style of 
living began alreadv take place in New York. 
He notes a recherche breakfast given to John 
Adams when on his way through the city to 
attend the first Congress and describes how the 
simple New Englander was struck by the opulence 
which met his eye in every direction, and yet the 
same authority says: "it is evident fi'om his 
(Adams') journal that he saw little of the best 
society, as he was entertained by two lawyers 
who had grown wealthy by their profession; in 
other words, they were nouveau riche." The rep- 
resentatives of British power doubtless brought 
over with them the evidences of wealth and the 
appliances of ariatocratic luxury, and their style 
of living ma}' have been imitated by a few of the 
Dutch Burghers, but they were exceptions, and 
if dinner parties were fashionable among them, 
the custom was very moderately followed by 
their Knickerbocker descendants. There were a 
few gentlemen of Knickerbocker parentage who 
prided themselves on their dinners; bon vivants 
who had cooks that understood how manv turns 



► KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 161 

of the spit were required to present a canvas 
back duck or a partridge in the highest possible 
perfection. Men who had educated their tastes 
to the cicest point in Sherries, Ports, Madeiras 
and Clarets, who appreciated the witching hour 
of twilight, when the business of the day was 
ended, with inside shutters closed and curtains 
drawn to exclude the bustle of the outer world, 
they could in the society of some chosen com- 
panions smack their lips over a variety of well 
served dainties. "But one swallow does not 
make Summer." Knickerbocker life was too 
stable, too uniform to countenance stag dinner 
parties, when the consequent orgies would run 
far into the night. That v^ould have been a blur 
upon the home of the '' gide frau" under no cir- 
cumstances to be permitted, and there would 
have been precious little enjoyment in a set noon 
repast, which would have to be hurried through 
to enable the participants to return to the 
drudgery of daily toil. The Yankee Thanks- 
giving, with its turkey, cranberry sauce, mince, 
pumpkin, apple pie and cider, found favor with 
the dames of Knickerbocker proclivities, who not 
to be outdone, had added the indigestible dough- 
nut and cruller to the dyspepsia provoking list. 
But these grand dinners were only informal 
family gatherings representative of all the living 
generations, including the puling babe, — the more 
the merrier, — at which every one present was 
expected to outeat himself, and only to retire 
from the table when compelled by actual surfeit. 
An invitation to dinner was not a rare occurrence ; 
it however merely signified that the guest was 



162 LAST DAYS OF 

welcome to partake of an abundant but simple 
repast, in nine cases out of ten void of display, 
and rarely any attempt at ostentation. 

Society under Knickerbocker rule was based 
on a strict observance of moderation in every- 
thing. It was a dickler for systematic routine; 
it exacted respect for public opinion in every 
minute particular; it required tlie punctilious 
observance of its mandate at home and abroad; 
it deemed that it was proper to attend a stated 
place of worship on the Sabbath; it held that to 
fi-equent certain places was wrong; it looked with 
abhorrence upon the spendthiift; it condemned 
the idler; it believed in a straight and narrow 
path of duty to your fellow man; it aided and 
encouraged honest industry; its pride was an 
honored home. 

New York did not become a dancing city until 
the advent of the Teutonic horde. When the 
German element became strong, the Garden, the 
Dance, the Song, with the accompanying "Lager" 
were introduced into every day life, and these 
rapidly broke through the barricades with which 
Dutch dignity aisd New England Puritanism had 
encircled society. 

Up to the period of this influx from " Vaterland," 
Tammany Hall and the Apollo Saloon more than 
sufficed to meet the terpsichorean demand, which 
w^as limited by the annual balls given by fire 
companies, military organizations, and some few 
political clubs, who adopted this method to re- 
plenish their respective treasuries. Tammany 
Hall was the chosen salon of the fire-laddies of 
the old regime; during the winter months they 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 103 

congregated there witli tlieir dnlcineas and held 
liigh carnival in their own peculiar manner. 

This volunteer fire department is not under- 
stood at the present day, for tradition brands it 
as a band of dangerous outlaws, who preyed 
upon the city unrestrained by disciphne or moral 
force. When the organization was in its prime 
its roll of membership embraced some sixteen 
hundred names, among which could be found 
some of the most promising young and middle 
aged men of the city, who entered into their 
duties with a zeal which bordered on infatuation. 
The rivalry that existed inspired them to deeds 
of daiing and valor. Efficient promptness was 
the aim, and to that is due the world-wide 
reputation accorded to the New York firemen 
for the vim with which they performed their 
perilous and arduous tasks. The majority of the 
force was made up of hardy mechanics, who 
when their toil for the day was over, made the 
engine house a rendezvous to chat over the last 
run, rub up and polish the pet machine, but 
above all to be in readiness to respond with a 
will to the first stroke of the City Hall bell. In 
the meantime they were well behaved, orderly 
citizens; strong, active, full of fun and frolic, 
ready for a race, and if need be a tussle, but 
very far from being plunderers or rowdies in the 
modern sense. Some companies were more ex- 
clusive than others, better educated and more 
refined, owing to their neighboring associates, 
but there was an " esprit du corps " pervading the 
whole mass which acted as a check against open 
lawlessness and insubordination. The engineers 



164 .. LAST DAYS OF 

and the majority of t!ie fbremen were well-knowii, 
responsible and respectable citizens. John Riker, 
James Gulick, A. B. Purdy, Elijah F. Lewis, Ed- 
ward Hoffmire, Allen R. JoUie, Edward Blanchard, 
Carhsle Norwood, Sherman Brownell, the gay 
Harry Howard, A. F. Pentz, E. R. Lee, Isaac L. 
Varian, Harmon Westervelt, James H. Titus and 
hosts of others were efficient officers of the depart- 
ment, and prominent directors in the most re- 
sponsible insurance companies on Manhattan 
Island. The trouble lay in the fact that the out- 
side public did not separate the sheep from the 
goats; each engine house was beset and disgraced 
by a crowd of idle hangers-on, who either begged, 
borrowed or stole a fire cap and coat, and who 
during a conflagration or a race to reach the 
scene, pressed into the ranks, and committed 
depredations or acts of violence which reflected 
seriously upon the whole organization, which 
was not only expected to do its whole duty in 
subduing a conflagration but also to act as police 
and preserve the public peace. A considerable 
element in the department was composed of a 
class known as " Bowery boys," peculiar in dress, 
gait, manner, tone; an inimitable species of the 
race, attempted tor some time to be copied on 
the stage, but the portraiture was either so weak 
or so grossly exaggerated as scarcely to be recog- 
nized. These "B'hoys" had fashions of their 
own, which they adhered to with all the tenacity 
of a reigning belle; they were the most consum- 
mate dandies of the day, though they aflected to 
look upon a Broadway swell with most decided 
contempt. The hair of the b'hoy or fire laddie 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 165 

was one of his chief cares, and from appearance 
the engrossing object of his sohcitude. At the 
back of the head it was cropped as close as 
scissors could cut, while the fi'ont locks permitted 
to grow to considerable length were matted by a 
lavish application of hears grease, the ends tucked 
under so as to form a roll, and brushed until 
they shone like glass bottles. His broad, massive 
face, was closely shaven, as beards in any phape 
were deemed effeminate, and so forbidden by 
their creed; a black, straight, broad-brimmed 
hat, polished as highly as a hot iron could effect, 
was worn with a pitch forward, with a slight 
incUnation to one side, intended to impart a 
rakish air; a large shirt collar turned down and 
loosely fastened, school boy fashion, so as to ex- 
pose the full proportions of a thick, brawny neck; 
a black frock coat with skirts extending below 
the knee; a flashy satin or velvet vest, cut so low 
as to display the entire bosom of a shirt, often 
embroidered; pantaloons tight to the knee, thence 
gradually swelling in size to the bottom, so as 
nearly to conceal a foot usually of most ample 
dimensions. This stunning make-up was height- 
ened by a profusion of jewelry as varied and 
costly as the b'hoy could procure. His rolling 
swaggering gait on the promenade on the Bowery; 
his position, at rest, reclining against a lamp or 
awning post; the precise angle of the ever-present 
cigar; the tone of voice, something between a 
falsetto and a growl; the unwiitten slang which 
constituted his vocabulary cannot be described ; 
even the talented Chanfrau, after devoted study 
of the role^ failed to come up to the full reality in 



166 LAST DAYS OF 

his popular and much admired delineation of 
■Mose. 

The b'hoj's female friend, whether wife, sister 
or sweetheart, was as odd and eccentric as her 
curious protector. Her stj'le of attire was a 
cheap but always greatly exaggerated coj)y of 
the prevailing Broadway mode; her skirt was 
shorter and fuller; her bodice longer and lower; 
her hat more flaring and more gaudily trimmed; 
her handkerchief more ample and more flaunt- 
inglj' carried; her corkscrew curls thinner, longer 
and stiffer, but her gait and swing were studied 
imitations of her lord and master, and she tripped 
by the side of her beau ideal with an air which 
plainly said " I know no fear and ask no favor/* 
Kunning with his favorite machine or saunter- 
ing on the Bowery the fire-laddie was a most 
interesting study to the naturalist, but on the 
ball-room floor at Tammany he was "seen, felt 
and understood," unap^jroachable, " alone in his 
glory." The b'hoy danced; to dance he required 
space. " No pent up XJtica, etc.," for his every 
movement was widespread as the swoop of the 
American eagle, which, by-the-bye, was his favor- 
ite bird; the symbol of Lis patriotism; its effigy 
was the crowning glory of his darling engine. 
Each cotillion was opened by a. bow to his part- 
ner and another to the laly on the right. Thig 
bow, composed of a twitch, a jerk and a profound 
salaam, was an affair so grand, so complicated, 
that to witness it amply repaid a somewhat 
dangerous visit to one of their festive gatherings. 
It behooved, however, the outside visitor to ba 
very cautious and undemonstrative while gratify* 



^ KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 167 

ing his curiosity, for the laddies were proud, 
jealous of intruders; they would not brook the 
slightest approach to a sneer or unseemly stare; 
but, above all, the Broadway exquisite who vent- 
ured "within the pale" was compelled to be 
very guarded in his advances towards any fair 
one whose peculiar style he might chance for the 
moment to admire. These gaily caparisoned 
ladies were closely watched by their muscular 
admirers, and any approach to familiarity either 
by word or look was certain to be visited by 
instant punishment of a positive nature. 
The pistol and knife now used by the modern cow- 
ardly bravado were not then in vogue, but these 
formidable braves carried fists backed by muscle, 
which were powerful weapons for aggressive pur- 
poses. As the ball progressed these active, inde- 
pendent citizens warmed to their work, and when 
coats became oppressive and burthensome, they 
were, sans ceremonie, thrown aside, and the exer- 
cises continued in shirt sleeves of bright red 
flannel. Most of the b'hoys wore dickeys, an al-r 
most irreconcilable deception, but accounted for 
by the fact that the red flannel shirt was the 
prominent article of his uniform. It was always 
donned that he might be prepared for the magic 
cry of "fire! fire ! turn out ! turn out !" for at the 
welcome sound he bounded like a deer from 
awning-post, wort-shop or ball-room. Besides 
this red garment was his hobby; on its front the 
number of his company was conspicuously dis- 
played in muslin figures as a general rule, but 
occassionally embroidered by the hand of his 
lady love in the most elaborate style. These 



168 _ LAST DA YS OF 

magic numerals fixed his identity beyond a doubt, 
and each was feared or respected in proportion 
to the strength of the particular clan in which 
he was enrolled. These boys were eminently 
clannish, and on a given signal they rallied for 
defence or assault, without sj)ecial enquiry as to 
the cause of action or whether the scene of con- 
flict was on a street corner or in the ball-room 
suiTounded by their respective goddesses. 

Many years ago when the Tammany Hall ball- 
room was in its full bloom, a verdant youth fii-ed 
by an insane idea to see life in all its phases, re- 
solved to visit the famous rendezvous on a certain 
evening selected by a crack fire company for 
their annual ball. Dressed in the trimmest Broad- 
way cut, swallow tail, straps, high choker and all, 
he entered the door, paid his dollar, and then 
sauntered in among the unterrified, expecting to 
create no slight sensation in the ranks of the 
assembled belles of the Eastern District by his 
elaborate make-up. He was not wrong as to his 
surmise in regard to sensation, but his premises 
were not accurately taken. A red flag is not 
more efficacious in exciting the ire of a Spanish 
bull than was the rig of a Broad v v dandy to 
arouse the pugnacious tendencies of Mo^e or his 
ally Sijksie, and especially when the much despised 
thing intruded itself upon their own stamping 
ground in the presence of Lize trigged out in full 
regalia. Mose watched with cat like eye the 
innocent youth who lolled from place to place, 
casting furtive glances hither and thither in the 
hope of meeting the gaze of some damsel more 
pkicky than himself who would ask him to join 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 169 

in a festive colillion. No one, however, of the 
dashing houri's took compassion on the bashful 
stranger as dance after dance was called by Mon- 
sieur De Grand Valle, the acknowledged ballet 
master, and who had been from the earliest 
recollection oi the oldest inhabitant the dancing 
professor in that special locality, and whether he 
is still " chasseeing " in his round-toed pumps as 
merrily as ever, "Quien Sabe." It would have 
been well for the self invited stranger if he had 
retired with disgust at the lack of courtesy on the 
part of managers and the assembled company. 
He did quit the fascinating scene several times, 
but only to return to the charge fortified by 
stimulants imbibed for the purpose of rallying 
his nerve. In due time the ardent produced the 
desired effect; his courage mounted to the proper 
standard to meet even the risk of a decided 
refusal, and he boldly requested the most timid 
wall flower he could select to honor him with her 
hand for the ensaing dance. The coy damsel 
complied with apparent willingness, and the pair 
were soon gliding through the intricacies of 
" balance to your partner " and " forward two.'* 
The jig was soon over, an 1 the courageous swain 
escorted his fascinating partner to her seat, over- 
joyed at his success, resolving in his mind whether 
it would not be manly to do the thing over again, 
and then invite her to the supper-room as a 
finishing stroke of gallantry. " Uhomme propose ; 
Dieu dispose" The adventurous hero had 
scarcely time to make his obeisance when he 
found himself tossed to and fro, as the dry leaf is 
whirled by the wintry blast. The cause of this 



Iv'O LAST DAYS OF 

sndden tumult no one deigned to tell. "Hustle 
him out!" was obeyed by as many red shirts as 
could possibly assist in the operation, and the 
imperative operation was executed as rapidly 
as the dense crowd would allow. The door 
having been i^assed the scared youth was^seized 
by the neck with a powerful grip and hurried to 
the stall's leading to the floor below, which he 
soon reached through the impetus imparted by a 
well directed kick, when he picked up his con- 
siderably rumpled person amid the jeers and 
taunts of his tormentors. Under such cii'cum- 
stances home was the much desired goal, and 
before retiring to rest, in conning over the dis- 
astrous events, and in taking account of the profit 
and loss of the adventure, the youthful traveller 
" in ways that are dark " found that he had left 
one skirt of his swallow-tail in the possession of 
the enemy, but, per contra, no bones were broken, 
no reporters j)resent, so the trifling loss was 
carried to experience account, which all young 
men should carefully keep for reference, not for 
the i3urpose of advising younger brothers, but to 
profit by the entries there noted down. 

The AjDollo Ball Koom on the east side of 
Broadway near the junction of Canal Street was 
a far more pretentious saloon than Tammany. 
Being on Broadway there was a marked mixture 
of classes, and candor compels the admission 
that " calico and check apron " was the jDrevailiug 
type so far as the female patrons were concerned, 
while the male element can safely be classed as 
democratic. It was not deemed proper that those 
who wished to be considered ladies and gentle- 



I KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 171 

men should be present at public balls; so in con- 
sequence of this provision in the Knickerbocker 
statutes, fashionable Young America was com- 
pelled to be extremely cautious lest his visits to 
the Apollo be discovered in aristocratic circles; 
but, above all, that they eluded the argiis eyes of 
the powers at home, who not only were re- 
sponsible for his morals but controlled the purse 
strings, and would surely for such a breach of 
decorum cut off the supply of dollars in a most 
summary way. But love has always laughed at 
bolts and bars; so love of fun and frolic inspired 
staid Knickerbocker youths to break through 
stringent rules to take the chances, and as fruits 
of disobedience they enjoyed many a lively dance, 
with lots of nice flirtations in the society of cheer- 
ful, bright-eyed milliners and dress-makers who 
hailed from the classic region of Division Street, 
not reared under the strict code which governed 
west of Broadway. 

For the life of them these New York grisettes 
could see no possible harm in the society of a 
juvenile exquisite who became wild with the 
idea that he was indulging in contraband pleasure. 
The irnocent and fascinating creatures enjoj^ed 
listening to the recital of the schemes necessary 
to compass the undertaking; they laughed boister- 
ously about the duplicate basement key, i^rocured 
at the greatest possible risk, with only Betty or 
Dinah in the secret, by means of which the "jDat- 
tern" who was supposed to be peacefully slumber- 
ing under the parental roof, could slip in ere his 
doting parents were astir. The boy in turn was 
carried away by so much sympathetic interest 



172 LAST DAYS OF 

and longed fcr the time to pass when they could 
meet again and talk over fresh difficulties sur- 
mounted. Such reminiscences will bring back 
the Old Apollo to many a man whose dancijig 
days are over, who can recall the substantial 
iron key which had to be so carefully inserted, so 
daintily turned, lest the slightest noise should 
lead to detection; how closely he clung to the 
baluster to avoid any tell tale creak; how he held 
his breath while passing the front bed-room door; 
how nervously he listened when his own apart- 
ment was reached, to be surely satisfied that all 
was thus far safe; but, above all, will he remember 
the painful sense of rehef he experienced when 
breakfast was over, and no doubtful questions 
had been proposed from either the head or the 
foot of the table and Betty had j)roved faithful 
and not snickered or looked wise. 

One Winter a bold attempt was made to over- 
turn the established law. Young America in 
solemn conclave resolved to dance openly and 
above board, if possible, and to do away with 
underground fun and frolic. To compass that 
end, to leave nothing undone, to obtain parental 
acquiesence by honorable means, to merit the ap- 
probation of mamas and perchance gain the active 
support of the leaders in society, though it was 
well understood the movement would meet with 
determined opposition from dominie and elder, 
who looked upon the dance as sinful in itself, be- 
sides being a waste of time which should be de- 
voted to higher and nobler purposes; for these 
worthies carried their views on the subject so far 
that they would rise and leave a little coterie 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 173 

(;nibered in a family parlor if the young people 
ventured to form a cotillion in their presence. In 
spite, however, of this antagonistic element, the 
Ladies Dining Eoom of the City Hotel was se- 
cured for the purpose of giving a series of socia- 
bles, at which none but subscribers, and those the 
creme de la crenie, should be admitted. Tickets, 
limited in number, positively not transferrable, 
and at the then exhorbiti^nt figure of twenty-five 
dollars for the series of five, were issued. A 
committee of men, well known to be good and 
true, was chosen as arbitrary managers, with full 
pov/er to insure the most perfect decorum and 
propriety. John Chamiaud vfas selected as 
general supervisor and floor manager, and as he 
had tauo'ht the ^grandmothers, mothers and 
daughters of the city all the poetry of motion 
which Gotham then could boast of, that choice 
left no room for cavil The City Hotel reunions 
were pronounced a success. Many noted beau- 
ties of the day honored them with their presence 
and the company was admitted to be as select as 
though congregated in a private parlor by special 
invitation. StilJ, notwithstanding all tl.e precau- 
tions taken, the admitted fact that every detail 
was comme il faut, that nothing occurred which 
could possibly wound the most sensitive. New 
York was not yet prepared to endorse the threat- 
ened inroad on the established idea ot female se- 
el usiveness. The old time dowagers, backed by 
the minister, denounced the sociables, pronounced 
them a breach of decorum, tossed their caps and 
emphasized "indelicate'' when the names of some 
fair ones chanced to be mentioned in their jDres' 



174:' LAST BAYS OF KxYICKERBOCKER LIFE. 

ence, who bad patronized these efforts to enhance 
social life and innocent enjoyment. The battle 
for supremacy was bravely waged on both sides, 
but the old ladies beat Young America and the 
City Hotel sociables were discontinued. Under 
such circumstances what was male Young Ameri- 
ca, out of his teens, to do? He had discovered 
that the Tammanyites were by far too pugna- 
cious, too set in their peculiar views for comfort, 
that Charruaud's monthly gatherings were little 
else than school exhibitions, gotten up to tickle 
the amour propre of doting mothers, invariably 
present to be assured that no mirth should med- 
dle with the serious, smileless business of the 
decorous cotillion, — so staid, that Charlie, Dick or 
Tom were forced to " cut their pigeon wings " 
with theological sobriety ; any juvenile antic 
which might cause a faint glimmer to light up the 
placid features of Mary Jane or Catharine Ann, 
was sure to be detected by the watchful Miner- 
vas, and the thoughtless Httle belles were frowned 
on as a punishment for their levity. So perforce 
as a last resource to find some vent for the love 
of sport that Avas in us, we were driven to the 
Aj)ollo to enjoy a rollicking dance, free from un- 
natural restraints of unyielding formality, but 
always kept within proper bounds by that civility 
which regulates American assemblages where 
woman is present. 



CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. 

"Let the players be well used; for ttiey arc the abstra'^ta 
and briel chronicles of the timos; alter yonr deaih you 
were better have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while 
you liye.— Hamlet. 

There were four theatres in the city, i. e., the 
Park, American (now Bowery), FranMin, and 
Richmond Hiil. The Park, situated on Park 
Row, between Ann and Beekman Streets, was 
erected in 1798, but was burnt and rebuilt in 
1821, and was calculated to contain about 2,500 
persons when filled to its utmost capacity. Un- 
der the management of Simpson and Price it 
was the acknowledged histrionic temple not only 
of New York but of the IJDited States. A suc- 
cessful engagement played on its stage, served as 
the "open sesame'' to all others in the country, and 
a hearty endorsement by Park audiences operated 
as a sure quietus to rural criticism, not excepting 
Boston. The architecture of the building could not 
be classed under the head of any known order; 
it simply presented to the eye a wall front of 
bricks and plaster with windows and doors 
pierced here and there as convenience or circum- 
stance dictated; it might have been taken for a 
barrack, store-house or Methodist meeting, had 
it not been for a statue representing the " Bard 
of Avon," thoughtfully placed over the main en- 
trance to proclaim its special dedication to the 
Muses. Its interior arrangements, decorations 

175 



176 LAST DAYS OF 

and apxDointraents will appear niggardly and 
mean, perhaps ridiculous, by contrast witu the 
palatial homes of the drama now reared in every 
section of the city, in the decoration and embel- 
lishment of which such vast sums are annually 
expended to satisfy the taste for luxury charac- 
teristic of the present hour. The entrances to 
the Park were narrow and dingy, the lobbies un- 
carpeted and dark; for the source of light, an oil 
lamp, was not calculated to produce a dazzhng 
effect. Brilliant illumination, however, was not 
requisite to display elaborate frescoes, choice 
marbles or artistic mouldings; the old Park lob- 
bies were as plain as the trowel and saw could 
make them. The walls were tinted first one cclor 
and then another with apparently no other ob- 
ject or aim than to hide dii't, and vary the mo- 
notony; so the primitive tools used to rejuvenate 
and redecorate the temple were the scrubbing 
brush and the white, yellow or blue-wash brush, 
while the artists employed were good old darkies 
who did their work faithfully for the considera- 
tion of six shillings per diem. The auditorium 
consisted of three tiers of boxes and the Fit. 
The settees of the first and second tier were fur- 
nished with backs and the seats covered with 
dark moreen, an article pronounced everlasting 
and warranted not to fade; they were narrow, 
straight and hard, so it required good acting to 
enable one to sit out a performance. The pit was 
occu]oied exclusively by the sterner sex, and was 
reached by a narrow subterranean passage, ad- 
mirably planned to suit the operations of pick- 
pockets, for two abreast stopped the way. Its 



KNICKERBOCKER LIRE. 177 

furniture consisted of long, unbacked, stationary 
benches, un cushioned and roughly-planed at that, 
with bai-oly room betAveen to crowd by, to say 
nothing of any possible extensions of limb. Such 
accommodations offered no attractions to the 
rentier sex, whose descendants in the female Hne 
now pay extra prices to lounge on the cushioned 
chairs of the aristocratic parquette, and on the 
sofas of the choice orchestra stalls, for they have 
lately discovered that this formerly-despised jjit 
was the spot not only to see and hear, but also to 
be seen. The Park pit was not the /^^, hi, place 
which many may picture it, and it must not be 
associated with the peanuts and slang which are 
so apt to be linked with its name. It was no bar 
to respectability to be seen there, that is to say, 
by those who were seated in the boxes; for to 
frequent the theatre at all was deemed sinful by 
a large and influential class of citizens. The pit 
ruled the judgment of the house, for the critics 
and reporters congregated there and the actoi 
knew where the jury was seated, upon whose ver- 
dict his future on the American stage largely de- 
pended. Those jurymen as a rule were dispas- 
sionately correct, seldom permitted their decisions 
to be warjDed by prejudice or national feeling; 
fair play and no favor was the sentiment apt to be 
iinanimous. One prominent excejDtion when the 
old Park x^it was divided it may perhaps not be 
amiss to relate, as upon that special occasion there 
was exhibited on the part of the audience a wild 
excitement and a riotous disposition manifested 
which has no parallel in the annals of the Park 
Theatre. Mr. and Mrs. Wood's celebrated operatic 



1*^8 LAST DAYS OF 

performances of the time had made one or more 
trips across the Atlantic and had become gTeat 
favorites with New York audiences. The lady es- 
pecially was not only admired as an artist of great 
merit, but respected by the public as a virtuous, 
true woman. On their passage to this country 
to fulfil an engagement at the Park, entered into 
with Mr. Price in England, they chanced to have 
for a fellow-passenger a New York editor, who 
was famous for his pugnacious tendencies. As a 
matter of course, on the then usual protracted 
voj^age, people who were not affected with chron- 
ic seasickness became acquainted, so our editor 
and Wood proved no excex3tions to the rule. On 
a certain day of the trip, when other topics 
chanced to flag, England and the United States 
b}" some accident loomed up as the subject of a 
discussion. Point by point the old controversies 
were gone over to wile away the tedious hours; 
but ere the j^ow-iuoio came to an end, both had 
warmed up to the importance of the issue to be 
then and there settled. "Rule Brittania" versus 
"Yankee Doodle" stood facing each other with 
menacing look and gesture across the narrow ta- 
ble; the gauntlet of war was thrown down and 
promi)tly accepted. Y'ankee — swore that 
John — should be hissed from the New York 
stage ; John — defied these editorial slanders, 
and sneered at the pretended power of his wrathy 
a^^versary. 

In this bellig'erent mood both landed and 
at oiice set about marshalling their respective 
forces for this trial of strength. Citizens were 
Qoou appri.-sd of these threatened hostihties and 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 179 

the theatre office was besieged with eager aj^pli- 
cants for tickets, so great was the anxiety to be 
present on Wood's opening night and witness 
the skirmishing between the high opposing par- 
ties. Despite the soUcitations of the peaceful 
Simpson and the cahn arguments of Treasurer 
Blake, the editorial tliunderer daily vented his 
wrath in a leading column of his mammoth sheet, 
— while he lived to spill iok and use up harmless 
goose quills, no British hireling should ruffle the 
feathers of the American Eagle and go un- 
whipped. The United States Bank, the tariff, the 
coming election, were all for the time "deid 
cocks in the pit," for he had vowed the English 
actor should be hissed from the stage. 

On the never-to-be-forgotten opening night, 
the house was packed from footlights to gallery. 
All were orderly iu the dense assemblage ; noth- 
ing noticeable save tbe unusual circumstance 
that there was scarcely a woman to be seen in the 
crowded audience. There was a buzz as the or- 
chestra struck up the overture to the appointed 
opera, nothing more; and when it was concluded 
the pit, as was customary, awarded its accus- 
tomed quota of applause. As soon as this usual 
demonstration had subsided the green baize drop 
was slowly furled as a signal that the performance 
was about to commence. To describe with any ac- 
curacy the scene which followed is an impossibility. 
Clapping of hands, stamping of feet, accompanied 
by cheers, groans, hisses. Cries of " Wood ! 
Wood ! " seemed to issue simultaneously from 
three thousand masculine tliroats, and created a 
din which made the old shell tremble. In 



■^^^ ^ , LAST DAYS OF 

response to this somewhat singular, but hj no 
means unexpected call, Wood appeared at the 
iving, and with an apparently firm tread walked 
to the footlights, but after facing the storm for a 
moment his confidence was shaken and he beat a 
hasty retreat. Mr. Simpson, the popular man- 
ager, accompanied him to the front on his second 
attempt, and with supplicating bow and gesture 
essayed to still the tumult. He displayed a 
placard which announced that he and Mr. Wood 
desu'ed to be heard in their defense; but manager. 
Wood and placard were forced to retire without 
effecting their object. Still the yells were con- 
tinuous, but the curtain was not lowered as a sig- 
nal of defeat. Wood was not willing to abandon 
the field to his adversary without one more at- 
tempt. He again strode with marked determina- 
tion to the footlights, but was not only received 
with a voUey of unearthly yells ; missiles 
were hurled at him by the habit uea of the third 
tier. Then ensued a scene which perhaps has 
often been described in sensation novels, but one 
which is seldom enacted in every-day life, and 
witnessed by thousands of spectators. So soon 
-as this new danger presented itself Mrs. Wood 
rushed to the front and threw her woman's form 
between her husband and his assailants. The ef- 
fect produced by the sudden movement on her 
part was electrical. Such ringing cheers as 
gi'eeted the noble woman never before or since 
rang within the walls of a theatre, and the intiies 
of the Old Park gave her round after round of 
ap]Dlause with a vim which drowned the contin- 
ued hisses of the gods and soon dieterred them 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 181 

from further attempts at bodily harm. The pit 
had been divided by prejudice for and against 
Wood, but that sentiment quickly vanished when 
the self sacrificing wife tearfully pleaded for 
mercy in behalf of her rash and hot-headed 
husband. 

Far from being an educated musician, the 
writer feels that he cannot do fi:U justice to the 
talented orchestra of the Park ; no special wrong, 
however, can be committed by endeavoring, after 
the lapse of years, to describe a select number ol 
worthy men, who night after night were punctu- 
ally at their posts, and delighted us with choice se- 
lections from the "Bronze Horse" or accomj^anied 
Chapman with accepted skill, when he thriUed 
his auditors with the pathetic ballad entitled the 
« Teetotal Society." 

The leader of the band was seated a very trifle 
above his subordmates ; he did not wield a magic 
baton and swing it wildly about, as is the habit of 
modern conductors ; neither did he wriggle and 
twist, but looked straight ahead, fiddled right 
aloDg from page to page, until the httle bell told 
him to stop. His repertoire was not extensive, but 
satisfied the popular craving ; old acquaintances 
in music, as well as in everything else, were wel- 
come, and he would always answer an encore 
without going through the ceremony of bowing 
right and left, and save himself the trouble of 
placing his hand upon the supposed region of 
his impulsive, artistic heart. The viohn of the 
leader was sustained by a flute, cornet, trombone, 
bass viol, violincello, clarionet, cymbals and drums, 
all commoji instruments, all save one played on 



182 



LAST DAYS OF 



by ordinary men, and th'at one the man who 
officiated during man^^ years in the drum depart- 
ment, which was located in the left hand corner 
of the orchestra, TJie operator on the two diums 
was a character who beyond a doubt oj^ened his 
ej^es in London, for Cockney was unmistakably^ 
stamped around and about his dumpy person 
fi'om top to toe. His patronymic not having 
been handed down, it is most fitting that he 
should hereafter be known as Mr. Drum. Drum 
was short and stout, his large round head was 
bald and shining at the top, his eyes were small 
and inclined to be waterj^, his apoj^lectic face 
was closely shaven, his nose was stubby and 
highly colored, his mouth made to fit any pewter 
mug manufactiu-ed. A black silk stock occupied 
the narrow space between his ears and shoulders, 
where it was met by the glazed collar of a snuff- 
brown coat which enveloped his barrel-shaped 
body to the point at which it whs hidden from 
the public gaze by the formidable instruments 
upon which it was his nightly duty to hammer 
most unmercifully-. Drum must have been the 
possessor of a wonderful memory, so far as drum 
music was concerned, for if he used notes they 
were never exposed, but like those of extempore 
preachers, artistically concealed. During his 
rests he was the impersonation of lethargy ; he 
sat on his stool with closed eyes, apparently dead 
to all surroundings ; but, when time was called, 
he delivered his well directed blows with a will, 
which compelled the trombone man to put forth 
every human effort that the concord of sweet 
sounds mio-lit be maintained. When the leader 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 183 

favored us with the overture to the Biunze 
Horse, Drum seemed to wike from his stupor as 
if fully av^are that the main success of that grand 
composition depended upon the free exercise of 
his wonderful beating powers. Wind and string 
instruments were nowhere in the struggle when 
he was surely aroused. Drum had a *'full hand," 
he " played it alone," and would never have tired 
had not his well-trained ear caught the tinkle of 
that little bell hidden somewhere in the dei^ths 
below, when down fell the sticks, and the man of 
energy sank back motionless until again called 
into action by the tiny monitor behind the green 
baize curtain. 

From the prominence given to Mr. Drum it 
must not be inferred that the Park orchestra was 
destitute of real musical talent, for hundreds will 
not fail to recall one of its number, Alexander 
Kyle, who for years was the champion flute player 
in America, and mauy are doubtless living who 
time and again honored him with a hearty en- 
core when a solo on that instrument chanced to 
be a feature of the musical entertaii-ment. 

The patrons of the Park were fond of English 
Opera, and were occasionally favored "even when 
no foreign singing-bird of high repute was avail- 
able. Cinderella long held the front rank in 
popular favor, and was produced by the stock 
companies without the aid of any particular star. 
On such occasions Mrs. Austin, a pretty, pert ac- 
tress, with a sweet voice of no .inconsiderable 
cultivation, was the Prima Donna. Mr. Jones, 
the standing tenor of the company, sang the role 
of the rrince very acceptabl}-. Jones was a siug- 



184: LAST DAYS OF 

ing-mastei but no actor, while Harry Placide, a 
great actor but no vocalist, ^Yas the Baron Pump- 
olino on all occasions. William F Brough was 
for a considerable period attached to the Park as 
a singing member, and was always so complais- 
ant as to indulge the musical critics of the pit by 
favoring them with "The Wolf." This famous 
ballad was so intensely guttural in tone that it 
called into requisition the full power of the trom- 
bone as a fitting accompaniment in those lower 
depths reached by the powerful organ of the 
great basso profundo. Opera was, however, the 
exception in the varied Hst of entertainment at 
the Park. 

Stars of the first theatrical magnitude 
were engaged in the London market, many of 
whom met with such success as to frequently re- 
peat their visits, while some among them never 
returned to their native country. Among the 
first mentioned occur the names of Cooke, Young, 
Edmund Kean, Charles Kemble, Tyrone Power, 
Sinclau', Miss Ellen Tree, Fanny Kemble, with 
lesser luminaries, who in turn appeared ; while 
Cooper, Junius Brutus Booth, Vandenhoff, J. AV. 
Wallack, John and Charles Mason were among 
the stars who fancied our semi-barbarous man- 
ners and customs and settled among the Yankees. 

It was, however, in the stock company attached 
to the Park that our interest centered, for it Avas 
to that we were indebted lor our real theatrical 
treats. 

Tr. a troupe where all were fixed stars, differing 
only in degree of excellence, but unsurpassed at 
Wie time in their several specialties; who have 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 185 

iy.ai)e.d together on the same stage for so long a 
period, that they appeared more like a family 
group congregated for then- own amusement 
than merely actors and actresses whose vocation 
was to please the public for a passing hour. It 
would be ungenerous to make exceptions ; so- far 
as memory serves ail shall have a short notice for 
"auld lang syne." ''Place aux dames" has always 
been an American sentiment. Mesdames Wheat- 
ley, Vernon, Gurner, Austin, Barry, Misses Char- 
lotte Ciishmau, Emma Wheatley, Clara Fisher 
were the much admired deities of young Gotham- 
ites, who constituted themselves their knights 
when the beauty or talents of these ladies were 
called in question by any outside barbarian who 
ventured upon adverse criticism. 

Their judgement may have been just in the 
slightest degree one-sided, enthusiastic praise of 
this or that particular role, just a little strained; 
but their equals cannot be culled from the ranks 
of any company now on the New York stage. 

No one of the ladies was a distinguished 
"Monde ;" a tow-hpad was not the rage; high civili- 
zation had not introduced the unveiled beauties 
of the Black Crook school; — the "Highland Fling" 
in ruffled pantellettes, by a miss not far advanced 
in her teens proved an ali-sufficient excitement, 
for the "Mazonrka" in heavy silk skirt reaching 
far below the knee brought the fan into general 
use; caused a sudcien desire for absorbing con- 
versation, and the danmuse was only awarded 
with sly, stolen glances from the boxes; no pat- 
ting of tiny hands, no waving of handkerchiefs, no 
determined stare through powerful lorgnettes, no 



186 ^ LAST DAYS OF 

smiles of wild delight when her artistic display 
was ended. This timidity on the part of the 
ladies present may be ascribed to a squeamish 
affectation or to a sad lack of taste in not admir- 
ing the beauties of nature, — no matter what its 
cause it did exist and modesty manifested itself, 
and the audiences of the Old Park enjoyed a 
sterling comedy or drama with a hearty appetite, 
with a simple relish which required no doubtful 
spice to enhance gratification. 

Mrs. Wheatley, the mother of WilHam and 
Emma, was the theatrical matron, duchess and 
queen of the company. She was a lady of marked 
presence, of portly commanding figure, possessed 
a pleasant expressive face, an agreeable voice, al- 
ways modulated to a nicety to the requu-ements 
of her assumed character, and ever perfectly at 
home in the varied roles she was called upon to 
assume. Confident of appreciation by the audi- 
ence she evidenced that composure of manner on 
the stage which was one of her peculiar attrac- 
tions in private life. Far above mediocrity in 
every part assigned her, the personation of the 
fussy, towering dame in old Eugiish comedy was 
her crowning effort, and in these delineations she 
was never outranked during her protracted ca- 
reer. Fresh, cheerful, active, she seemed to keep 
pace with all changes, was at her post seemingly 
without ache or pain, and gave every outward 
sign that she was a century plant, and she did 
bloom long after the last vestige of the Park had 
passed away. 

Death has but recently withdrawn Mrs. Vernon 
from the stage, and we have thus far looked in 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 187 

vain to crich a glimpse of a successor worthy to 
fill her place on the boards. The present genera- 
tion have too often applauded, nay cheered the 
genial, mirth-provoking old lady to need any re- 
minder of her unsurpassed abihty in a line of 
character which she early appropriated and to 
which she uninterruptedly clung during the more 
than half century of her theatrical life. The 
Fisher family, from which she sprang, has long 
been noted for the marked stage abihty of its 
members, especially in light comic roles; but, as 
will readily be recalled, the family was not cele- 
brated for beauty either in the male or female 
line. Mrs. Vernon's portraiture of the soubrette, 
shrew, spicy old maid, and female Paul Pry, will 
ever be held in high esteem, not only by the 
ancien regime, but by the habitues of Wallack's 
at the present time, who had the gratification of 
witnessing her piquant, rollicking style, inimitable 
to the last, even though it had become slightly 
blunted by the rubs of "three score years'" and 
ten." 

Mrs. Gurner, another of these favorites, did 
not possess the talent to soar above respectable 
mediocrity. Perfect in part, faultless in make up, 
she always was eminently satisfactory, but never 
astonished her most ardent admirer. Pretty, pas- 
sive, retiring in manner, she looked and acted the 
walking lady, or dependant female relative to 
perfection, and if by chance absent from her well- 
determined sphere, the sensitive critics in the pit 
felt the loss of her presence and were uncom- 
fortable. 

Miu Barr^, the stock representative widow of 



188 LAST DAYS OF 

dead Idnos and motlier of murdered prince??, 
was a large stately dame who did all the heavy 
business with most solemn voice and manner. 
How the lady would have appeared in other ves- 
ture than the sombre "habiliments of woe," or 
wnat silvery tones would have greeted the ear, 
had her stage lot not been cast with the dire ne- 
cessity of continually cursing the crooked-backed 
Richard, or in uttering loud lamentations for the 
" untimely taking off" of her Henry and Edward, 
cannot even be surmised; for whenever she was 
in the cast the night was sure to be devoted to 
the performance of "deeds of dreadful note;" and 
as a natural consequence of her presence the or- 
chestra was compelled to intone one or more fu- 
nereal dirges. . Undertakers are reported to be a 
cheerful, merry class when unemployed at their 
special calling, that being a fact Mrs. Barry may 
have been "a joy forever" in the domestic circle. 

Charlotte Cushman, when but a mere girl, ap- 
peared on the boards of the old Park. Her slow 
advance in the profession was unnoticed even by 
those who almost nightly were present at the per- 
formance. On attaining womanhood, her devel- 
opment evinced nothing \o arrest the attention of 
a casual observer. Her voice was harsh, almost 
masculine in quality, her manner brusque, her 
movements dignified and self-possessed, j^et they 
lacked that pliant grace looked for in womar, 
though at times her independant dash and un- 
wonted energy would ehcit hearty bursts of ap- 
plause from an audience which did not anticipate 
a surprise. The critics of the time noticed her 
performances with the greatest respect : "Miss 



KNICKERBOCKER LIRE. 189 

Cusliman sastaincd the cbaracler of with 

her accustomed abilily, sliowiiig careful study of 
the difficult role, etc./' but nothing more. No 
enthusiasm; no rapture. By degrees she imper- 
cejDtibl}^ strode to the front and was assigned 
leading parts in the unavoidoJjle absence of some 
particular star who chanced to be indisposed. 
Still, even then the wise directors of public taste 
and judgement detected nothing which foretold 
" coming events." They praised her sprightly 
personation of Lady Gay Sjianker, and when 
London Assui'ance was on the bills there waa 
sure to be a paying house; but as the cast in- 
cluded Placide, Bitchings, Fisher, Povey, etc., 
Charlotte, who was the life of the piece, was only 
looked upon as one of a cluster of gems. So 
time rolled on ; her talent was tacitly admitted, 
but still she remained year after year at the Park, 
apparently a fixture, both the public and herself 
seemingly unconscious of the spring she was so 
soon to take, at one bound to b3come the leading 
actress of the English stage, and an honored guest 
in the highest hterary circles of Europe and 
America. " We all knew it /" now cry the old time 
scribblers, as these worthies crowd Young Amer- 
ca aside at the entrance of Booth's magnificent 
dramatic temple, in their eager haste to witness 
once more before they die her powerful delinea- 
tion of Meg Merrilies. Now when the full glare 
of her genius has burst upon the world and the 
name and fame of Charlotte Cushman is as wide- 
spread as was that of the renowned Siddons; 
these wiseacres remember that far back in Knick- 
erbocker times they saw glimmeiings of her grerl 



ISO ,. LAST DAYS OF 

futui'e in the artistic personation of Mrs. Haller, 
when at a moment's warning Miss C ashman un- 
dertook the roie ; but they do not state why they 
suffered her to toil 021 in obscurity, or why they 
permitted trans- Atlantic critics to herald her 
transcend ant ability. 

Emma Wheatley made her debut at the Park 
when only a mere child. She first appeared as a 
danseuse, and for a time, aided by her sister, who 
soon withdrew from the stage. She was the at- 
traction between the play and the after-piece. 
Miss Wheatley was prepossessing in face and 
form; perfectly satisfactory as a dancer and pos- 
turant; modest, unassuming in manner, she 
pleased without ever being in any way wonderful. 
The long trained eye of her talented mother soon 
discovered that she possessed ability too decided 
to be wasted in a mere mechanical routine; with- 
drew her from the unsatisfactory role. Careful 
instruction combined with judicious training in 
the business of the stage, soon laid the foundation 
for the exalted position she attained as a delinea- 
tor of the highest range of character. 

Miss Wheatley was by nature excessively diffi- 
dent, and at the opening of her career was by 
some critics pronounced too sensitive, too nervous 
in temperament for great success in her adopted 
profession ; while others, among whom were Sher- 
idan Knowles, Epes Sargeant and Fitz Green 
Halleck, construed her co^^ness and abandon of 
self as e\idences of high art. Be that as it may, 
her style remained Ihe same to the close of her 
theatrical career. From the beginning she was 
c:icoura7ed and guarded by her watchful mother, 



■ KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 191 

and slie was invariably sustained on tlie stage by 
her brother WiUiam, who was at the time a 
promising young actor and attached to the stock 
company of the Park. Her novitiate was emi- 
nently successful. The different journals vied 
with each other in lauding her Desdemona, Julia, 
Mrs. Haller Mrs. Beverly, &c., and she was fast 
gathering histrionic garlands when she was 
snatched from the stage by a marriage with a 
fine representative of Young America named 
James Mason, the scion of a wealthy family of 
New York, whose father, John Mason, was the 
then President of the CbemJcal Bank. 

Ere the nuptual knot was tied, the young favor- 
ite bade adieu to the stage at a complimentary 
benefit tendered her in the New National Thea- 
tre, on the corner of Leonard and Church streets. 
Othello was selected as the play, and the cast of 
that evening has never been surpassed, if it has 
been equalled, on the stage. Edwin Forrest, 
then in his zenith, appeared as the jealous Moor, 
the great Booth was the lago, James W. Wallack 
played Cassio, William Wheatley enacted Kod- 
erigo, Mrs. Sefton was the Emilia, while the 
" beneficiare," in her haj)piest vein delineated the 
gentle Desdemona. The house was crammed ; 
the audience electrified by the efforts of this 
galaxy of talent. Each star was greeted with 
round upon round of applause, and when the 
curtain fell, all were vociferously called to the 
footlights to receive a parting ovation. When 
the curtain was drawn up in response to the 
popular demand, the quick eyes in the ^\i dis- 
covered that one planet, or rather one comet, w?i3 



193 LAST DAYS OF 

missing from the group, and sudden as thought 
the cry of Booth ! Booth ! rang through the thea- 
tre. The lago of the night did not appear, and 
the clamor became more intense, but after a few 
moments of continuous uproar the popular, errat- 
ic genius, akeady half disrobed, calmly stepped 
forward to satisfy his determined admirers. 
After making the customary obeisance he did 
not at once retire, but stood like a statue as if 
bewildered by the storm of excited cheers with 
which he was greeted. A speech ! a speech ! in- 
stantly produced death-like silence as if by magic; 
the attitude, expression, manner of the unap- 
proached actor can only be pictured by those 
who are so fortunate as to have witnessed his 
maiwellous magnetic powers. He seemed riveted 
to the spot when he realizied the position in which 
he had placed himself by his momentary abstrac- 
tion ; his flashing eye glanced from pit to dome 
in an instant, his foot moved as it was wont to do 
when Richard whispers "I wish the bastards 
dead; and I would have it suddenly performed," 
as he responded in a clear, ringing, but somewhat 
sarcastic tone, "Ladies and gentlemen, if j^ou are 
satisfied, lam,'' and then retired amid cheers and 
peals of boisterous laughter. 

Young and Old America saw Emma Wheatley 
withdraw from the stage with many a deep 
drawn sigh, feeling assui*ed that they would not 
soon " look upon her like again." 

Mrs. Mason, however, did not long enjoy the 
seclusion of j)rivate life. The alliance was dis- 
tasteful to the family of her husband, and she 
was too proud to make any advances tending to 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 193 

conciliation, and soon all intercourse ceased, and 
the door of his former home was barred against 
him ; but he was a favorite with his father, and 
during the life of the latter the young couple 
were provided with the necessaries for subsist- 
ence. John Mason, full of years, sickened and 
died, when James found himself penniless and 
disinherited. He was one of the few 3'oung men 
of New York who had been reared in luxury ; his 
education was as refined and elegant as money 
^ould secure, but with no aim at practical utility; 
in a word, he was an accomplished gentleman, 
had grown to manhood without profession or 
trade, which was then, and is in a great measure 
now, a certain bar against the possibility of earn- 
ing a livlihood. He had no business tact or 
knowledge, no business circle or acquaintance, 
and as a sequence was as helpless as a child. 

Mrs. Mason, like a true woman, did not hesi- 
tate a moment ; thej^ needed money to sustain 
life, but above all he needed ample means to 
contest his father's will, which he was satisfied 
would be set aside when properly presented to 
the legal tribunals. Terms were soon made with 
Mr. Simpson and her return to the boards was 
greeted by enthusiastic audiences. The suit was 
commenced ; both denied themselves everything 
not absolutely needed so that the means should 
be in hand to aid the restoration of the husband's 
rights in his father's immense estate, and the 
faithful wife toiled on, generously patronized by 
the public, until the desired end was accom- 
plished and her husband was awarded his un- 
justly withheld fortune. The goal reached, Mra. 



194 LAST DAYS OF 

Mason at once -withdrew from the stage with 
increased reputation as a finished actress accom- 
panied by unfeigned respect as a noble woman. 

One who knew them well can testify how cheer- 
fully they bore their protracted doubts, piiva- 
tions, and at times actual suffering ; but he also 
had the privilege of being a sharer in their bright, 
childlike anticipations when the clouds of adver- 
sity, seemed to have been dispersed. He can 
vividly recall their unaffected merriment when 
scene after scene of discomfort through which 
they had passed was recounted in the cosy pttrlor 
of their unostentatious country home, suiTOunded 
by the few friends who had cheered them in 
their dark hours, and who rejoiced with them in 
the prospect of ease and luxury, which, so far as 
mortal eye could discern, was decreed to be their 
future lot in life. But sad to relate, ere the first 
blush of prosperity had faded, in the full bloom 
of personal and mental charms, surrounded by 
all the appliances that taste and devotion could 
invent to please her refined nature, Mrs. Mason 
w.as suddenly summoned to bid farewell to the 
man she so fondly loved and for whom she had 
so faithfully, so persistently struggled. 

Clara Fisher, afterwards Mrs. Maeder, was a 
niece of Mrs. Vernon. 8he appeared at the Park 
as a "Youthful Prodigy," and inherited in a re- 
markable degree the talect of her noted family. 
She selected for her debut the character of 
" Little Pickle " in the farce entitled " The Spoiled 
Child." She was precocious ; became a marked 
favorite ; was applauded, petted, praised without 
limit, and soon became a spoiled child in reality, 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 195 

SO far as any marked improvement could be dis- 
cerned. Her early smartness did not keep pace 
with her j^ears, and as is often the case, the won- 
derful infant did not culminate in an extraordi- 
nary woman. She glided almost imperceptibly 
from the stage, but was long known as a cultiva- 
ted musician and highly esteemed as a teacher. 

Harry Placide, but lately deceased, at a ripe 
old age, was beyond a doubt the most brilliant 
general actor of his day. He was always accep- 
table to his audience, besides being a man in 
whom the manager could place perfect confi- 
dence. His rare talent was not limited by any 
specialty, it raDged from grave to gay, from 
Grandfather Whitehead to the fat schoolboy, 
whose delights lay in trundling hoops and eating 
gingerbread 

During his long continuous career on the 
boards of one theatre he was not surpassed in 
Lis conception and depiction of the refined, 
courtly gentleman, either of the old or new 
school, they were studies one never tired in wit- 
nessing- For such portraitures his physique 
was singularly adapted. His person was very 
attractive ; his features refined and elegant when 
in repose, yet unusually expressive ; his manners 
easy and graceful ; his voice soft yet manly in its 
modulation and tone. 

Perfectly "au fait" by early education and 
study in all the details which distinguish a pol- 
ished man of the world, he walked the stage and 
entered into his assumes character without any 
of those conventional ^tage^y mannerisms which 
often mar the performances of men who claim to 



196 LAST BAYS OF 

be stars of the first tliGatrical degree. Many of 
these stars never lose sight of themselves, their 
self-iiuportaiiee is absolutely appalling, it percept- 
ibly looms through every garb, through eveiy 
character they assume, and the careful observer 
will see the well-known form and figure of the 
famous tragedian Smith undimmed alike by 
£ioomy Hamlet, crafty Richelieu, ambitious Rich- 
ard, trusting Othello, conniving lago, or Su' Giles 
Overeach, or Sir Edward Mortimer; in fine, the 
whole repertoire through which Mr. Smith "struts 
his brief hour u^Don the stage." If Placide was a 
victim of this inordinate vanity, he possessed the 
happy faculty of showing it only at rare intervals, 
when he played the part of Henry Placide in pri- 
vate circles. Sir Peter Teazle, Sir Harcourt 
Courtley, Baron Pompolino, and Grandfather 
"Whitehead were in his hands gems of acting 
worth miles of travel to witness. In low comedy 
and farce he brought to bear ail the humor need- 
ful to a decided hit,, but never forgot himself or 
his audience by being unmindful of Hamlet's ad- 
vice to the plaj'ers. Tyrone Power, the acknowl- 
edged Irishman of the stage, who unfortunately 
has had no successor as yet worthy to wear the 
mantle of his fame, was a generous, appreciative 
man, and possessed a keen sense of the ridiculous. 
During his several engagements at the Park he 
was supported in many of his characters by Pla- 
cide, one of which is esx^ecially remembered. In 
this play Placide was assigned the part of a 
phlegmatic Dutchman, between whom and the 
rollicking Irishman a most unaccountable intima- 
cy springs up, and the odd twain axe supposed 



KNICKERBOCKER LIEE. 197 

to be traveling in coripany through Ireland. In 
many scenes of this play Power seemed to forget 
himself and joined the audience in their applause 
and laughter, as Placide growled and grumbled 
at the misery and discomfort which met him at 
every turn during his sojourn in the Emerald 
Isle. One scene in particular is recalled when 
the agonized Dutchman, with horror-stricken 
tones exclaims, "Mein Gott, vat a kountree, vat a 
beebles." The attitude, the look of despair, the 
gutteral, mournful tone of Placide, were so su- 
premely ridiculous that the great Power lost all 
self control, and for a time was convulsed with 
unaffected, genuine laughter. No comedian ever 
received a higher meed of praise. 

It is the general behef that actors as a rule are 
be most selfish of mortals; that they are the most 
censorious critics of each other; that jealousy 
forms a preponderant ingredient of stage life. An 
incident at the Park may prove interesting as an 
illustration that great actors can be generous and 
at times impulsive in the praise of a rival. The 
first appearance of Charles Kean at the Park 
theatre, on the boards where his father in former 
years had electriaed New York audiences, was 
anticipated as an uncommon theatrical event. 
For days preceding his opening expectation was 
rife, great things were hoped for from the son of 
the renowned Edmund; so the house Avas filled 
with the refined and educated patrons of the 
drama. Young Kean had chosen Richard, a 
character in which his renowned sire shone the 
biightest, both in England and America. In the 
rendition and acLini^ ui ihis thilUin^ loie the elder 



198 LAST DAYS OF 

Kean had powerful competitors, so powerful that 
the partizm spirit engendered almost culminated 
in a riot at the rival houses of Drury Lane and 
Covent Garden. Foremost among the ambitious 
disputants to become the acknowledged Roscius, 
was Junius Brutus Booth, whose ardent admirers 
claimed for him the much-coveted crown; but 
especially did they boldly assert that he stood 
alone and unapproached in his delineation of the 
Duke of Gloster. Certain it was that in this 
country through long years Booth was the stand- 
ard Eichard of the American stage; by his stand- 
ard aU aspirants have been criticized, and equally 
certain it is that no one ol the many who have 
appeared could invest the villainous character 
with that fearful reality and painful interest which 
characterized his personation of the role. Hia 
physique, his nervous temperament, his restless 
eye, his reckless manner, his consummate bye 
play, his devilish sneer, found full scope in the 
different scenes presented by the j)lay and he 
seemed fitted as it were by nature to portray to 
the life Shakespeare's ideal monster. 

This Junius Brutus Booth was among the as- 
semblage congregated to welcome and to pass 
judgment upon the young Kean on his fii'st ap- 
pearance at the Park. He was doubtless a close ob- 
server as the son of his great rival passed through 
an ordeal which was to make or mar his fortunes 
in the new world. Charles Kean was a wonder- 
ful actor; more than wonderful when his glaring 
physical defects are considered; more wonderful 
still for the tact he displayed not only in conceal- 
in^ them, but at times m couveiiin^ them into 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 199 

actual beauties. His figure was short and dis- 
proportioned, yet his action on the stage' was 
smooth, always commanding, and at times grace- 
ful; his voice was harsh and singularly uneven, 
his occasional hesitancy of speech almost amount- 
ed to a decided stammer; still, by the aid of his 
powerful will he so mesmerized his auditors that 
the broken articulation ceased to grate upon the 
ear, and his heredit iry genius, by which he was 
enabled to overcome barriers apparently insur- 
mountable to a man without his prestige, softened 
if it did not completely silence adverse criticism. 
His strict attention to detail, his perfect make-up, 
his energetic dash covered a multitude of faults, 
and he was greeted with encouraging applause as 
scene after scene was acted, point after point sat- 
isfactorily made, until the closing act was reached, 
in which his father and Booth had so often 
strained every power they possessed to gain the 
mastery. Thus far young Kean had made a most 
favorable impression, but the "tent scene" and 
llichard's desperate encounter with Eichmond, 
have always been considered as "test poiniii' upon 
which to base the merit of the actor, and he had 
wisely husbanded his energy and strength to 
compass the trying ordeal. He entered upon the 
arduous task with all the needful fire; the audi- 
ence warmed to his impulsive ardor, and he had 
scarcely completed the exclamation ^'Richard is 
himself again I" when from the box adjoining the 
stage rang out in a clear, distinct tone, " Good 
boy, Charlie, worthy of your father." The out- 
spoken enthusiast was at once recognized, and 
the noble criticism awaided by Junius Bi at as 



^00 LAST DA YS OF 

Booth was acknow! edged by sucli cheers as are 
only vouchsafed to master spirits. Kean's grate- 
ful, heartfelt bow^ as his quick eye caught a 
glimpse of the well known form of the acknowl- 
edged Richard of the stage will never be forgotten 
by those who were present, neither will Booth's 
hurried embarrassed exit when he found that he 
had unwittingly become the cynosure ahke of 
audience and of stage. 

Peter Ritchings is undoubtedly entitled to the 
next position on the roll of honor among the 
stock company of the Park. This is surely his 
due, if resx)ectable utility is to be the decisive test. 
Peter was a noted and notable man on the street 
as well as upon the stage; for he was over six feet 
in stature, straight and slim as an arrow; prim 
and straight in all the aj^pointments of dress, and 
on the promenade accompanied by his short, 
plump, good-natured, little wife, he was the per- 
sonification of a contented presbyterian divine 
who considers himself in good standing with the 
world and his special flock. Kichings was inva- 
riably well up in the varied parts of his somewhat 
incongruous duties on the boards, for thej^ ranged 
from the mournful tragic assignment, all through 
the tortuous windings of the drama clear down 
to the funny man in farce, and farther still, he of- 
ten joiaed in the chorus of sweet sounds when 
opera chanced to be the attraction; which fact 
may possibly account for the charming manner in 
v/hich his daughter Caroline now entertains her 
delighted audiences. He may also in an emerg- 
ency have appeared in ballet to sustain Madame 
Angusta in the Bayadere; if he did, it must be 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 201 

cteemed conclusive that liis loDg spinclle-sliants 
did their whole duty, that the effort was a pro- 
nounced success, for Kitchings was never known 
to undertake any role and fail to create something- 
akin to a sensation. His Dazzle, Mark MeddJe, 
and Modus, were especially characterized by 
careful study and were universally admitted to 
be performances of unusual merit, alike by the 
pubhc and the press. He was never moody or 
uncertain, but always appeared as one of the 
prominent figures of a happy family, bent on do- 
ing his utmost to promote the general weal. 
Ritchings was a prime favorite, not on account of 
sterling professional ability, but founded upon 
a far more enduring basis, his undeviating excel- 
lence and probity in every position of life, wheth- 
er as an actor on the stage or as a man in the do- 
mestic circle. 

John Fisher and his copartner John Povey di- 
vided for years the honors of low comedy. Their 
joint role included all the grave-diggers, the 
gawky cousins, the Yorkshire clowns, the imper- 
tinent serving-men ; in fact, everything iii the 
I)ert, saucy or idiotic line fell to the lot of these 
comic twins. John Fisher, the brother of Mrs. 
Vernon, was, like that lady, of a spare and active 
mould, quick-witted, rare at repartee, possessed 
of a marvellous facial expression ; but, like the 
rest of his family, he was apt to chuckle percep- 
tibly at his own comic powers. He laughed him- 
self at his own oddities and made everyone else 
do the same, except his confrere Povey. This 
John Povey was a rotund little cockney, who 
looked oily from sheer good nature, but his full- 



202 LAST DAYS OF 

moon face never betrayed the slightest emoil^n, 
yet his imperturbable gravity was irresistibly 
funny, and his vacant idiotic stare must have 
nearly equalled Listen's fit of grief, said to have 
convulsed his audience, for the smiles of mirth 
radiated through his tears ; or Burton's pompous 
indignation, which was painfully ludicrous. The 
man, woman or child who could abstain from a 
hearty laugh when Fisher, Mrs. Vernon and 
Povey were on the stage was indeed a hopeless 
case, for no skilled medicine man could avail with 
such a confirmed, chronic misanthrope. Whether 
Povey is still alive and battling manfully with 
rheumatic gout, like his old friend Tom Bleakley, 
immured in some secluded cottage on the out- 
skirts of civilization, condemned on dry toast and 
tea to do penance for the innumerable woodcock 
he devoured in his prime at Windust's, where 
ample time is given him by his former admirers 
for reflection and retrospection, is not known to 
the writer; but John Fisher died in 1847 after a 
brief illness, leaving Mrs. Vernon to be the last 
of the mirth-provoking trio. 

William Wheatly was the hotspur, young vil- 
1am, lover, dandy of the company. Quick, bril- 
hant, ambitious for success in his profession, he 
pressed forward with determination, and at an 
early age became a prominent personage among 
a group unsurpassed for talent. His well knit, 
supple figure, classic features and manly bearing 
made him a special favorite with the ladies of the 
day, and the effect of their ill-concealed admira- 
tion was soon appai-ent in the ^'petii maitre" style, 
80 noticeable in his subsequent walk and demean- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 203 

or on the stage. But despite his vanity he rose 
to 1)6 recognized as a melodramatic actor of far 
more than ordinary merit, and ably sustained his 
sister, Mrs. Mason, during her short but brilliant 
theatrical career. On her retirement he with- 
drew from the Park, where he had been thor- 
oughly and methodically schooled in stage busi- 
ness, and became the lessee and manager of a 
Philadelphia theatre, appearing only at intervals 
in this city, and but a short time since closed his 
public duties as the manager of Mblo's Garden, 
from which, rumor says, he retired with an ample 
competence. 

The Mason's, Charles K. and John, came to this 
country with Charles Kemble and his talented 
daughter Fanny. As these gentlemen were near- 
ly allied to that renowned family, they at once at- 
tracted public attention, and shone for a time 
from reflected splendor. While father and daughter 
remained on the boards the Masons were attached 
to their suite and enacted the loxier roles when 
the niece of Mrs. Siddons strode the stage; for it 
was generally understood that the lady would not 
permit a stranger to breaths "soft nothings" in 
her ear, even in the presence of a packed audi- 
ence, on a brilliantly lighted stage, and the peer- 
less Fanny had for the moment merged her indi- 
viduality into that of the impulsive Julia, and 
made ordinary mortals quake when in dramatic 
frenzy she exclaimed "Do it, nor leave the act to 
me." After the retirement of the Kembles, John 
Mason remained for a time a member of the stock 
company of the Park, but the lucky actor soon 
won the heart of a wealthy damsel of Gotham, 



S04 LAST DAYS OF 

and the twain made "assurance doubly sure" by 
a precipitate elopement, which created an unusu- 
al stir in methodical circles. When the parental 
and Knickerbocker storm had spent itself, John 
bade a final adieu to the stage, assiduously studied 
medicine, and Dr, John with Mrs. Mason soon 
earned professional and social distinction in the 
city of brotherl}^ love, which has been for years 
their happy home. 

Saturday night — the reverse of the present or- 
der of things, was the dull theatrical night of the 
week, for many occasional patrons of the drama 
still held to the old style idea, that all worldly 
matters should be cast aside at sunset of that 
day, and the preparations for the Sabbath formal- 
ly inaugurated. Parties were inadmissible, visit- 
ing of doubtful propriety, except is cases of im- 
perative necessity, or when the most intimate re- 
lations existed. Stars in their engagements in- 
variably excepted Saturday nights, for these lu- 
minaries like the rest of the world had a "single 
ej^e" to the almighty dollar and had no idea of 
wasting their talent and time upon the unattrac- 
tive walls and hard benches of the old Park. Such 
being the fact, it was stock night, but occasionally 
devoted to "the first appearance on any stage" of 
some enthusiastic worshipper of the sock and 
buskin school. As their debuts were as a rule 
not paying enterprises, the managers exacted 
expenses in advance from the aspirant for fame, 
so "par consequence" the audience of the occasion 
was, in classic language, dead-head. Debut, Sat- 
urday night, brings vividly to mind the first ap- 
pearance of a stage-struck youth who liad seen 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 205 

and studied Kemble's Borneo; had rehearsed ifc 
over and over in his leisure moments before his 
shaving glass, with his cot bedstead, washstand, 
chair and portmanteau as audience ; being his 
own critic, the decision was of course favorable, so 
he had resolved to relinquish his unromantic 
humdrum drudgery, become the petted hero of 
the horn and woo his Juliet with a pathos, in 
comparison with which Kemble's most tender 
tones would pale and be forgotten. The coming 
Romeo hired the Park for a Saturday night; his 
name was duly posted in capitals on the bills, but 
when the eventful time arrived, few besides the 
dead-heads could be induced to enter the classic 
portals and become "particeps criininis" in the 
mui'der of the lovesick but inoffensive Romeo. 
The pit, however, was comfortably filled, for the 
boys were always on the qxd vim for item^, w^hich 
were not near so plentiful then as now; and be- 
sides the new star was not unknown, but chanced 
to be the successful and popular proprietor of 
the few ten pin alleys then required for the 
healthful well being and recreation of the young 
Knicks. 

Our Romeo appeared duly togged out in fall 
regalia, blooming as a June rose, with his courage 
screwed to the needful point and gained fresh 
confidence by the boisterous reception he met at 
the hands of friends in return for the free treat 
he was about to afford. The old actors and act- 
resses who were to sustain the novice "had been 
there before" many a time, and well understood 
how to bolster up any faintness he might show-— • 
to aid the all-important prompter who was scarce"^ 



206 LAST DAYS OF 

iy concealed beliinJ iLe wicg, and bad a most 
arduous duty to perform. All went well at the 
outlet, little hitches here and there were dexter- 
ously regulated; no crash, no positive breakdown; 
and throughout the opening scenes the ambitious 
swain was sustained by visions of coming great- 
ness, little dreaming that dread end was so close 
at hand; that the "balcony act" which he had re- 
hearsed so often, and with so much confident sat- 
isfaction, in the seclusion of his quiet attic, was 
to prove his downfall and positively his last ap- 
IDearance on any stage. In this balcony act, 
while awaiting the appearance of his Juliet, our 
hero all at once seemed to realize that he was 
alone, — that a deathlike stillness pervaded the 
house; he cast wistful glances towards the sup- 
posed window, but his love was not there. In an 
instant all seemed chaos to the befuddled, bewil- 
dered man, — he forgot his part, was too deaf to 
everything to heed the almost bursting prompter. 
Even the audible liema of the convulsed Juhet 
were unavailing to restore consciousness, — he 
reeled and staggered like a drunken man. and ere 
assistance reached him his legs failed to perform 
farther duty, so our Komeo fell speechless and 
senseless upon the stage, amid boisterous peals of 
laughter from before and behind the footlights. 
'''Bet up them p?ns.'" was sarcastically hurled by 
the critics in the pit, but all to no purpose. Fear 
had done its work, the green baize curtain fell — 
a shooting star had disappeared from the tlieat- 
rical horizon — but the item-man had secured a 
point even on a Saturday night. 

Other actors and actresses might be named and 



, KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 307 

commented on, bnfc those akeady rei'erred to may 
be deemed sufficient to serve as an outline of the 
theatrical men and women who amused and in- 
structed us in former times at our Old Driiry. 
The stage upon which they played, its scenery 
and appointments by which their efforts to please 
were seconded, it would be unjust to their his- 
trionic memories to leave unnoticed; for it must 
recur to any one of the former habitues, who still 
possess the vitality and desire to visit the modern 
theatres, that the accessories they enjoyed were 
mean and pitiful when compared even with third- 
class establishments of to-day, and be convinced 
that the remembered interest they created would 
have been enhanced ten-fold had they been sur- 
rounded by a tithe of the gorgeous trajDpings and 
intricate machinery now deemed indispensable 
to success. 

The stage of the Park was as spacious as was 
desirable for the production of any play, its di- 
mensions having been forty by seventy feet, and 
Edmund Simpson was by no means a niggardly 
manager, for he was ever ready to avail Limself 
of the best artistic and mechanical talent the 
market offered, but unfortunately for the com- 
pany on the stage and the audience in front, 
genius in that line was a rare commodity. The 
public, however, were fortunately not exaciing, 
but satisfied that the good man used his best 
endeavors to j)lease; besides, in their case, for the 
most part, ignorance was bliss, and so perforce 
they were contented. 

Still, as the scenery and appointments are, 
after the lapse of years, recalled, and in memory 



S08 LAST DA YS OF 

contrasted with the " mise en scene " of to-day, 
the whole affair seems so naked, so ridiculous, 
cue can scarcely realize that it was tolerated for 
a moment, much less nightly applauded by the 
most cultivated people the New "World could boast 
of. That they were cultivated and refined it is 
only needful to mention such names as Drake, 
Halleck, Bryant, Hoffman, Fay, Morris, Willis, 
Noah, Benjamin, D wight, and others of the 
" Nobile Fratrum " whose literary labors have a 
world-wide repute, and who, as members of the 
press were rarely absent from their accustomed 
places in the temple of the drama. 

Besides these well-known writers and poets, 
our merchant princes, accompanied by their fam- 
ilies were habitual attendants, and the night was 
inclement when representatives of the Astors, 
Beekman, Hone, Coster, Douglas, Cruger, Liv- 
ingston, Schermerhorn, Van Rensellaer families 
were not to be seen in the boxes, for such names 
definitely settle the quality of the auditors, who 
were not only satisfied with, but heartily enjoyed 
the primitive performance so far as stage effect 
was concerned. 

The majority of our readers have, without doubt, 
visited Booth's beautiful theatre, and have wit- 
nessed with delight the magnificent artistic 
mountings of Hamlet at that classic establish- 
ment. Hamlet was a favorite tragedy then as it 
is at the present time; the critics and the public 
were divided then as now, with reference to the 
mental status of the much injured Prince of 
Denmark. Some actors danced about and 
twirled their handkerchiefs when they supposed 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 209 

themselves unobserved by the spies of the Queen 
Mother and her husband; as an evidence of joy 
that they had succeeded in deceiving their ene- 
mies, and beyond doubt convinced them that 
Hamlet was indeed what he pretended to be, 
stark mad; while others, who conceived them- 
selves equally great, m.aintained a stoical sullen- 
ness of tone and manner throughout the five acts, 
which became painful from its long drawn inten- 
Bity. Charles Kean was a disciple of the first 
class, basing his construction of the character 
upon the first line, " I am but mad north, north- 
west; when the wind is southerly I know a hawk 
from a handsaw," and there are some still alive 
who consider his rendition of the much-disputed 
rolej loses nothing by comparison with greatly- 
admii-ed modern delineators. 

Kean's Hamlet at the Park, over thirty years 
ago, and Edwin Booth's personation of the same 
character at the present time, it is not proposed 
to discuss. The former was at the time pro- 
nounced unsurpassed on the stage, while the 
latter is the acknowledged Dane of to-day, — but 
it is proposed to notice the marked contrast in 
the stage sun'O an dings of each ; the primitive barn- 
like scenery and aids upon which the former waa 
compelled to rely in his efibrts for effect; and the 
costly elaborate appliances which must so effi- 
ciently tend to inspire and assist the latter in all 
the points upon which an actor relies. 

Edwin Booth enacts the role in a princely pal- 
ace, gorgeously furnished ; he walks a stage on 
which the elaborate fitting scenery is noislessly 
moved in a flash; where light and shade are so 



210 LAST DAYS OF 



J 



scientifically controlled and arranged, as nearly 
to ajiproacli the perfection of nature; nothing to 
mar the desired illusion, no mishap to distract 
either actor or spectator from the points so vital 
to success in the former and interest in the latter. 
One scene at the Old Park will suffice to demon- 
strate what Charles Kean was compelled to fore- 
go, so far as the actor's imagination has to do 
with the poet's imagery, in the supposed moon- 
Hght interview between Hamlet and the spirit of 
his murdered parent. The scenic artist of the 
Park was a man of strong, natural common sense, 
who, judged by his work, despised the trilling 
shifts of humbu'x ; his talent developed nothing 
except paljDable, self-evident facts. By j^ersonal 
observation he had ascertained that a full moon 
was round; he had seen one himself, and the 
honest man determined that the audience should 
have ocular demonstration of the fact without 
risking their health by exposure to the chilling 
damps. 

His full moon was constructed on the most 
simple and economical principles. Aided by his 
corps of assistants, a large cn'cular i^ole was cut 
in the center of a drop lowered at th rear of the 
stage, the exact altitude of which was determined 
by the dimensions of a step-ladder, the reach of 
a call-boy and the length of a tallow candle com- 
bined. This round incision was covered by a 
piece of the thinnest shirting muslin, so that when 
the long narrow box which contained the oil 
lamp foot-hghts had been lowered out of sight, 
the blazing dip in the hand of the boy perched 
on the ladder, shed through the white muslin 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 211 

the faintest possible counterfeit glimpses of the 
"Queen of the Night." The daring youth in 
search of the parental shadow was compelled to 
grope his way in palpable darkness, for the stage 
was black as Erebus, no object discernable in the 
gloom save Isherwood's sickly white patch swaying 
backward and forward as the unsteady curtain 
was moved either by the wind or the restless 
s.xiye. Eminently proper under such cb. cumstan- 
ces was it, for Hamlet to exclaim, " I'll go no far- 
ther," for it was a dangerous experiment to tread 
the Park stage at the imminent risk of i^lunging 
head first through one of its many traps leading 
to depths below. 

Isherwood's lunar rays were no worse, no bet- 
ter than the other emanations of his artistic intel- 
lect; while the scene shifting power was limited 
to strong hands and willing feet, for the latter 
were often seen doing most diligent duty in some 
of the magic transformations required for the 
play. With such surroundings it will readily be 
perceived that Kean had few extraneous props 
upon which to lean, but was compelled to achieve 
deserved reputation by his individual powers. 

Now and then by chance, a few of the Old 
Park fogies do meet and chat about theatricals 
as they were, and as they are. On the question 
of mechanical skill and artful, sensational display, 
they with one accord cry beaten. They concede 
the dramatic temples of Young America to be 
magnificent, and relate with hated hreaih, the new 
marvels they beheld in the modern homes of the 
Muses; they slyly tell of peeps at the enchanting 
Forty Thieves, of the enticements of the Twelve 



212 LAST DA YS OF 

Temptations, or go into ecstacies about the 
"witcheries of Opera Boulie, and cliuclile over the 
lavish exhibition of charms; grov?- practical when 
the Ballet is mentioned, but are vacillatiDg and 
unsatisfactojy on the all-absorbing controversy 
of blonde versus, brunette — they as one man con- 
cur in the -wish that they were boys again, for in 
their hearts they mourn over the unromautic 
times in which their youth was a pait, for then 
all these delightful things were not. But when 
the key note of pure legitimate is sounded, they 
warm up and are anxious to compare one by one 
the old time favorites with the new lights, stripped 
of all modern improvements; and they boldly 
assert that in this respect tinsel and show have 
usurped the place of pure gold on the American 
stage. 

The Park had its daj', but during the last few 
years of its existence it was shorn of much of its 
former prestige. The National Theatre was new, 
its managers young and energetic, aU its appoint- 
ments in keeping with the advance of the city. 
Under the management of Thos. S. Hamblin the 
doors of the Park were kept open, but the vener- 
able pile was burned to the ground in 1845, dur- 
ing an engagement of the Montplaisir troup of 
dancers, when its name and fame became the 
property of the dusty past. 

The building now standing and known as the 
Bowery Theatre is the third dramatic temple 
which has been erected on the same ground. 
Its predecessors were destroyed by fire, the pres- 
ent structure having l)een raised in 1836. The 
prominent managers in its glorious days were 



' KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 213 

Dinneford, who was succeeded bj Thomas S. 
Hamblin. Both were pecuhar favorites with the 
singular and clannish patrons of that section of 
the city. 

It was at the Bowery the first scintillations of 
Edwin Forrest's stentorian powers were brought 
prominently into notice. Leggatt, the editor of 
the Evening Post, was the champion of this 
American tragedian, and availed himself of every 
opportunity to laud the performances of his spe- 
cial pet. Forrest's marvellous physique was the 
pride and delight of the Bowery boys, who have 
always been noted for their admiration of the 
intensely sensational order. The "blood and 
thunder " school of declamation was to them " a 
joy forever," and young Forrest seemed fitted by 
nature to fill their exalted idea of gi'andeur. 
His original Metamora and Jack Cade, or his 
Spartacus was sure to fill the house with an en- 
thusiastic crowd. 

Tom Hamblin, the manager, was also a sure 
card with the east-side patrons. His command- 
ing figure, expansive chest, jet flowing locks, and 
stagey strut, realized their conception of Adonis. 
He was well posted in all the tricks of the trade, 
and until his voice was seriously injured by an 
asthmatic complaint, he could bellow with the 
best, " tear a passion to tatters, to very rags," 
" spht the ears of the groundUngs," and thus 
made himself a hero with men and boys who 
doted on caricature, no matter wh it shape it as- 
sumed, always provided there was a strong in- 
fusion of the grandiloquent. 
John B. Scott was far from being an insignifi- 



314 LAST DAYS OF 

cant imitator of Forj-est, and undoubtedly ranked 
next on the list of Bowery stars. Like his adored 
pattern his style was that of the expansive school, 
and in classic vernacular, " he spread himself," — 
" No pent up XJtica confined his powers," as the 
capacious stage of the Bowery was none too 
large for the complete exhibition of his melo- 
dramatic frenzy, when in the closing scene he 
was surrounded by blue iiames, and wildly hi-hied 
by the thoroughly roused B'hoys who were packed 
in the pit at a shilling a head. 

This Bowery pit was doubtless the study from 
which emanated the cui'rent theological idea that 
the theatre w^as the visible "counterfeit present- 
ment" of that mythological terror so persistently 
dwelt on by the good dominies to deter the 
Knickerbocker youth from entering its doors. 
The patrons of this i)it were little devils of every 
shape and shade, w^ith a large preponderance of 
the printer's imp, backed up by his sworn ally 
in wickedness, the newspaper boy; who was and 
still remains a zealous supporter of the drama, 
and has an abiding faith in stunning elfects on 
the stage. There free, outspoken critics were 
nightly at their posts, and when the doors were 
opened rushed like unchained demons to secure 
front seats. Woe betide the luckless stranger 
who in the furious melee had chanced to light 
upon the chosen spot of some steady attendant, 
for with the cry of "hustle him out," the intruder 
was passed to the rear as if he were nothing but 
an inanimate mass, from bench to bench, by the 
hatless, coatless, barefooted crew, with a prac- 
ticed dexterity which baffles description. This 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. ^. 215 

unwashed, uncombed assemblage were unmistak- 
able believers in the doctrines set forth by the 
great English traveler, so far as the conduct of 
the occupants of the first tier was concerned; for 
even the careless turning of the back upon their 
domain was quickly detected, and as quickly 
righted by the well-understood shout of Trolhpe; 
and when the imperative order had been com- 
plied with, the impolite offender was comforted 
by a rousing cheer. At the tinkle of the bell, 
" down in front," " hats off," announced from the 
pit that the thrilling scenes were to be enacted, 
and for a time the pandemonium was silent as 
the grave. 

Josephine Clifton was for a time the ruling 
theatrical goddess of the Bowery. She seemed, 
as it were, expressly created to meet the extrava- 
gant ideas of her worshippers, so far as dimen- 
sions went. Though of gigantic proportions for 
a woman, her form was symmetrical, her features 
attractive and her voice not lacking in sweetness 
of tone. Macbeth, even personated by the stal- 
wart Forrest, or the long-striding Hamblin, looked 
insignificant and puny when the magnificent 
towering Joe Clifton walked the stage as their 
"better-half," while the other actors and actresses 
dwindled into mere pigmies by her side. This 
theatrical giantress was, however, short lived, and 
her sister, Miss Missouri, who was almost her 
counterpart in physical development and personal 
charms ended her brief career on the stage, as 
was currently reported at the time, by poison. 
But by far the best actress which the Bowery 
could boast of in the olden times was Mrs. Shaw, 



SI G LA ST DA YS OF KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 

aftfcrwai'ds the wife of Manager Hamblin. For 
years tliis lady sustained the leading female roles 
with marked ability, and some of her impersona- 
tions would compare favorably with the best then 
known on the English or American stage. Mrs. 
Shaw was an admirable reader; buthttle inclined 
to rant, and apparently gave no heed to the clap- 
trap nonsense so generally in vogue v/ith those 
whose lot was cast to please critics with a taste so 
decided as that which swayed the verdicts of the 
Bowery pit. The purely sensational even con- 
strained the great Booth, when in his latter days 
he now and then gratified the hoij^ with his far- 
famed Richard, and the old stager knew full well 
that it was needful to husband his strength for 
the closing act. He knew that a short, decisive 
conflict with Richmond would not do; that noth- 
ing but a long-drawn, "rough and tumble," ex- 
hausting fight would come up to the standard. 
Flynn and other aspiring Eichmonds were on 
more than one occasion the victims of Booth's 
energetic display; for the cheers ol the unterrijied 
seemed to rekindle the latent fires of the veteran, 
who dealt blows right and left, which were not 
laid down in the rehearsed programme; and with 
a will which often caused his opponent to dance 
about with a dexterity seldom witnessed on the 
boards, and these Bichmonds always seemed to 
feel a great sense of relief, when the doughty 
crooked-back tyrant relaxed his spasmodic efforts 
and permitted himself to be dispatched, as laid 
down in Shakespeare's version of the tragedy. 



CHAPTEE rOUETEENTH. 

Tlie Franklin Theatre, situated on Chatham 
Square was a cheap, small concern and a weak 
competitor of the Bowery. Its rivalry amounted 
to little notwithstanding the fact that Booth was 
occasionally entrapped in his eccentric wander- 
ings and induced to appear for one or two nights. 
There were, however, two sensations at this house 
which attracted, notice and brought many dollars 
into the treasury. The hero of the first was a 
stage-struck genius named Kirby who drew 
crowds to witness his death throes in the closing 
scene of Kichard. In intensity and protracted 
horror they surpassed anything ever attempted 
up to that period, for by comparison Booth's 
highest pressure under the direct influence of 
both outward and inwiird spirit was tame and in- 
sipid. Kirby, in imitation of the Junius Brutus, 
kept his vitahty well in hand for the final wind up, 
and his audience, as if in sympathy, listlessly re- 
chned until the moment came, when the hitherto 
harmless and apparently peaceful man was to 
commence his "high and lofty tumbling" as if he 
had just been stung by a thousand wasps. 
" Wake me up when Kirby dies" was a cant say- 
ing of the time, but the man or boy who could 
sleep during Kirby's agonizing bowlings, could 
calmly repose in the embrace of a yelpmg ma- 
niac. 

317 



218 LAST DAYS OF 

Tne other feature which recurs iu connection 
with the this theatre was the production of the 
local drama in which Mose, Sikesy and Lize are 
introduced as types of the peculiar class then 
known as Bowery B'hoys, or Fire-laddies. The 
allusions and situations, combined with the j^e- 
culiar phraseology of the leading characters, in- 
vested the piece with unusual interest, and in- 
sured it a temporary popularity. Male citizens 
of every grade, alter investing in a pint of freshly- 
roasted peanuts, betook themselves to witness 
Chanfrau's admirable personation of the reckless, 
devil-may-care, yet chivalric Mose, whose odd idea 
have been already noticed in a preceding chap- 
ter, where the reader has met him in propria 
persona, and can perhaps comprehend the diffi- 
culties which beset even that talented actor in 
his endeavors to faithfully portra}^ a character 
which has now become obsolete and a legend of 
the past. 

The opening of the National Theatre, on the 
northwest corner of Church and Leonard streets, 
marked a new era in our theatricals. The audi- 
torium was constructed with some regard to com- 
fort, and by comparison with the old places of 
amusement in Gotham it appeared grand and 
luxurious. It was originally designed to be the 
home of Italian Opera in the new Avorld, but after 
a short season of financial disaster, the unaccli- 
mated singing birds became disgusted with the 
chihing associations of the temperate zone, and 
took wing for more sunny climes. Our venerable 
friend, John Falstaf Hackett, took possession of 
the abandoned nest ere it became cold, and dedi- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 219 

cated it to dramatic entortainments of the Anglo- 
Saxon type. For a time, under the management 
of this well-known " Sergeant of the Old Guard," 
it thrived apace, but its renown was assured when 
James W. Wallack came to the rescue and as- 
sumed entire control. His enterprise, tact and 
histrionic ability were untiringty devoted to its 
success, and it was at the National that he laid 
the foundation for his long and brilliant career 
as a metrcpohtan manager of rare accomplish- 
ments. 

The stock company was culled with great dis- 
crimination from the theatrical ranks at home as 
well as from abroad; and the comedy staff was 
most admirably chosen, for such names recur as 
Mitchell, " Billy Villiams of the Veils," Browne, 
Blake, Nickerson, who were in themselves a host 
never to be forgotten, while the memory of a 
hearty laugh remains to warm up the stagnant 
blood. Browne's "Robert Macaire,'* and the 
"Jacques Strop" of Williams, were gems of comic 
acting that the intervention of long years cannot 
dim — they can scarcely blur the much-enjoyed 
treat. 

During Wallack's management he made a 
most marked hit by the introduction of English 
opera. The troupe was a choice one, and it had 
a long and successful engagement. The favorite 
singers were Mesdames SherifT, Seguin and Poole, 
who were most ably supported by Messrs. "Wil- 
son and Seguin. Balfe's " Amilie " was brought 
out, and it miraculous^ fitted the Yankee idea of 
music, which was, and is, no matter what may be 
assured to the contrary, ringing, cheerful, simple 



220 LAST DAYS OF 

melocl3% for "Morning's Ruddy Beains Tinged 
tiie Eastern Sky" and " My Boyhood's Home" 
were for the time warbled in the parlors and 
carolled on the streets of Gotham. Wallack did 
not then, as was his custom of late years, rely 
entirely ux)on the attractions of his unsurpassed 
stock company. The stars of the period were 
frequently engaged, and among them were the 
Vanderhoffs, father, son and daughter. The 
elder Vanderhoif was a most finished elocution- 
ist ; his readings in Cato were superb, while his 
personation of Cardinal Richelieu, penned ex- 
pressly to display the peculiar powers of the 
much-eulogized Macready, has not been sur- 
l^assed by a single one of the many who have at- 
tempted its delineation on the American stage. 
The daughter was a polished, finished actress, 
and her " Pauline," a test character of the day, 
ranked with the best, while the son, who has 
made his home with us for many a year, is too 
well known, far and wide, on tJie stage and in the 
lecture room^ to need the tribute even of a pass- 
ing notice. 

When theatrical planets were not available, 
Rolla, Don Ceesar, Evelin, or any one of The Wal- 
lack's artistic roles was sure to fill tlje house, for 
from his first entree at the Park he was stamped 
as guinea gold by public opinion, and to the end 
held his high rank. All agreed that he was a 
most finished actor, and possessed the haj^py 
faculty of being invariably agreeable to his au- 
dience. Though he did not entirely sink his 
iudividuahty, he deserves great credit for his 
marked endeavor to cloak the Wallackian vanity, 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 221 

for whicli that family is so noted, both on and off 
the stage. James W. Wallack, as an actor, dis- 
played so much ability that his vanity was most 
cheerfnlly pardoned by his enthusiastic admirers. 

On his second visit to this country, Charles 
Kean appeared at the National ; but ere his en- 
gagement closed, and when the stage was set for 
Kichard, the popular theatre was burned and 
never rebuilt. Wallack's subsequent theatrical 
life belongs to the modern era. 

When the National Theatre was destroyed, the 
sons and daughters of Melpomene who had domi- 
ciled there, were scattered hither and thither. 
Mitchell, an unmistakable child of Momus, estab- 
lished himself as the manager of a tiny box situa- 
ted on Broadway, be' ween Howard and Grand 
streets, which he dignified with the name of thea- 
tre and christened the laugh-provoking nook as 
"The Olympic." This seven b}^ nine cubby -hole 
he devoted to sensational burlesque, and the 
manager in person was its bright particular star 
throughout its prosperous career. His corps of 
assistants was of course very limited in number, 
for tne stage was scarcely more spacious than an 
ordinary parlor, but as regarded fitness for the 
business required it was a rare combination. 
Mitchell, Walcott, Nickerson, Clarke, Mary Tay- 
lor, Misses Nickerson and Clarke were the fixed 
attractions, though others were in an emergency 
temporarily engaged, among whom was Stephen 
Massett, who of late has become widely known as 
the famous " Jeemes Pipes, of Pipeville," a wan- 
dering philosopher, who, " when the moon o'er 
the lake is beaming " hies away to the uttermost 



^^3 LAST DAYS OF 

p..i.;i of tlio earth Lo cull irosii stimulants for his 
restless muse. Massett made his debut in the 
operatic hue, and ably assisted in the travesties 
of Fra Diavolo and Amelia. Mitchell, however, 
was his own best card; he was a wonderful 
ii)i:nio. Nast, with his pencil is great; Mitchell, 
with nothing but his stubby frame was far 
greater, and no actor or actress of note escaped 
his trenchant, iromcal burlesque. 

His caricatures of Booth's Richard, Kean's 
Hamlet and Forrest's Othello were marvels of 
grotesque imitation, but his crowning success 
was as a " Danseuse," at the time when the divine 
Fauny Ellsler was creating sad havoc among 
New Yorker.-^, old and j'oung ; causing her slaves 
to cut up all sorts of anti-Knickerbocker antics, 
for a most prominent one was carried so far by 
his infatuation that the Poetess of Motion was 
whirled up the Bloomingdale road behind his 
show}^ foui'-in-hand, to the unspeakable horror of 
grandfathers and the ill- concealed envy of the 
boys who were not so fortunate as to represent 
the capitalists of the Main. 

Ellsler had selected for her "piece de resis- 
tance " at the Park a ballet entitled La Tarantule, 
and on each appearance the queen of agile grace 
was literally showered with bouquets, which were 
hurled at her with the wildest enthusiasm. 
Mitchell, with his quick sense of the ludicrous, 
fully appreciated the demented condition of 
affairs, and his cogitations culminated in the pro- 
duction of a ballet at the Olympic, with himself 
as the rival of the then inimitable posturist and 
dancer. 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 223 

On the first night of " The Mosquitoe " there 
was scarcely breathing room in his little theatre 
for an hour before the curtain was to rise, for 
expectation was on tijj-toe, curiosity was rife as 
to what extent this new tried imitation would be 
a success. 

Mitchell's costume and make-up were exact 
copies of the original, but any attempt to describe 
the effect they produced when fitted upon his 
well-known figure, is utterly vain. Imagine a 
short, thick- set man, with heavy, bandy legs, and 
red, full moon, comical face, arrayed in short lace 
petticoats, his dumpty extremities encased in 
flesh-colored tights, white satin slippers on his 
goodty-sized feet, streamers of gay ribbons flut- 
tering from his broad shoulders, his big round 
head encircled by a wreath of bright flowers, 
standing before you in a position of exaggerated 
grace, and with a fearful assumption of modesty, 
tremulously bowing to a perfect storm of cheers, 
and some faint conception may be formed of the 
nondescript apparition advertised to personate 
the most accomplished dancing woman of the age. 

In the item of graceful repose, Ellsler by com- 
mon consent won the day; but when the item of 
agility comes to be discussed, critics were divided, 
for Mitchell performed wonders in the jumping 
line that were icstigated by his arduous efforts 
to prevent his airy apparel from unduly rising 
and thus possibly shock the more sensitive of his 
refined audience. The closing scene of La Ta- 
rantule as performed by Ellsler was pronounced 
the " acme " of graceful power, for Fanny's aerial 
flights were stupenduous; they carried Young 



^^4 LAST DAYS OF 

America to tile very verge of hopeless lunacy. 
Mitchell's genius was, however, equal to such an 
emergency. He brought rope and hook into 
requisition to aid him in his determined resolve 
not to be outdone by a woman, and the burly 
humorist was through their agency hoisted high 
in air, where he kicked and floundered until the 
spectators were worn out with laughter, when he 
displayed a placard which triumphantly informed 
the public " that he could jump higher and stay 
longer than Fanny ever could." 

On being lowered from his giddy height Mitch- 
ell " pirouetted " for a while, embowered in car- 
rots, turnips, parsnips and onions, aud w^hen 
backing out gave vent to his overflowing feelings 
with the simple broken words " Tousan tank, me 
art too fool" and which the arch knave had stolen 
bodily from the idol of the hour. Ellsler on 
more than one occasion witnessed the side-split- 
ting contortions of Mitchell, and rewarded the 
incomparable mimic with genuine marks of her 
appreciation. 

Mitchell, with all his smooth sailing, had some 
trouble new and then to manage the characters 
who made the Olympic pit their rendezvous. 
Among them there was a sprinkling of news-boys, 
who, from being mere peddlers of papers, had 
through continuous contact with these mediums 
of lore become educated and graduated into noisy 
critics, who never hesitated to express theu* likes 
and dislikes in the most positive, even boisterous 
manner. With this pit Mary Taylor was a deity. 
"Our Mary" was an all-important personage, 
and whoever ventured to speak sHghtingly of 



KNICKERBOCKER LIEE. 225 

their adopted queen was quieted in tlie most 
summary manner. It so chanced that on one 
occasion " Our Mary " and the worthy manager 
came to a misunderstanding relative to some 
matter behind the scenes — a mere matter of in- 
crease of salary. Mitchell refused to comply; 
"Our Mary" refused to go on; so when the cur- 
tain rose, Miss Clarke, a gentle, modest girl, ap- 
peared in the place that " Our Mary " had here- 
tofore filled to the unspeakable satisfaction of 
her rough admirers. The Olympic pitites took 
in the situation at a glance, and with one accord 
demanded the restitution of thek pet. They 
hooted at the inoffensive substitute, bellowed 
" fresh shad " in the shiillest possible key, varying 
only the monotony by occasional yells for Mary 
and Mitchell to appear. After a few moments 
" Old Crummies," calm as a spring morn, walked 
to the footlights amid cheers mingled with the 
shout " Put Mary back !" "Where is our Mary T 
When comparative silence was obtained, IMitchell's 
face and manner were a study not often seen, as 
he looked upon the riotous crew and slowly 
uttered : " I attend to my own business in my 
own way. If there is any more disturbance in 
the pit I shall raise the price !" The manager 
retired with applause ; the play of the " Savage 
and the Maiden '' proceeded without further in- 
terruption, Mary Taylor was restored, and she 
continued to dehght her enthusiastic knights un- 
til her marriage, when she bade adieu to the 
stage. 

A play was run for a short period at the 
Olympic which was a source of much merriment 



226 . LAST DAYS OF 

to the initiated, but was the cause of many 
embarrassing incidents to those who chanced to 
be novices and ignorant of its intent. While the 
piece was progressing on the stage, several of the 
actors were disguised, and mingled with the 
audience to enact their roles at the proper time. 
On a certain occasion a well known and con- 
spicuous resident of Gotham was seated in the 
boxes, and intent upon the play which he had 
never seen or heard of. Next him sat a person 
in rustic attire, a well-to-do countrjanan in ap- 
pearance and manners, whose whole attention 
seemed also to be riveted upon the play. Suddenly 
the hitherto quiet farmer sprang to his feet., and 
in tones of the most intense excitement implored 
his long lost wife to quit that stage and return to 
her abandoned home, and at the same time 
appealed to the gentleman who sat bewildered 
beside him to aid him in the recovery of his 
stolen treasure, who was fully aware from the 
shouts of " Shame ! shame ! put him out !" that 
the eyes of the audience were fixed upon him, 
and he keenly felt his perplexed and ridiculous 
position. The more he smoothed his irate 
neighbor, whispering that he knew Mitchell well; 
that he would use every effort to restore the 
fallen angel to her lord, the more boisterous be- 
came the excited husband, and the louder seemed 
the suiTounding uproar. It was not until the 
curtain was lowered that he discovered the in- 
consolable man had flown. The storm of the 
audience was changed to peals of hearty laughter, 
when the kind sympathetic gentleman perceiving 
at a glance the presence of the "httle joker," 



-- K^nCKERBOCKER LIFE. 227 

modestly retired, and ever after took high ground 
against practical jokes in any form. For genuine 
fun New York has had no successor to the 
Olympic. Mitchell was a preacher indeed when 
he took upon him the task of ridicuHng the 
follies and extravagancies of the times. 

The inception of Niblo's Suburban Pleasure 
Ground, which is now covered by the Metropol- 
itan Hotel, a magnificent theatre and a concert 
hall, was an advance step taken by Wilham 
Niblo, who had acquired a down-town reputation 
as a caterer, and in consequence became famous 
among the bon vwants and the critical tasters of 
fruity lachrymce. This new summer retreat was 
remote from the dust and bustle of the city 
proper, quite a Uttle walk from the densely popu- 
lated quarters, and its simple arrangements and 
ornamentation were deemed fully up to the mark 
of the modest ruling taste. A plain board fence 
enclosed most of the property on the block 
bounded by Prince, Houston, Broadway and 
Crosby Street, and on the south-east corner on 
Broadway was built the bar-room, saloon, or 
whatever name would now be given to the apart- 
ment devoted to spiiituous refreshment ; it was 
both spacious and airy, and it at once became 
the chosen rendezvous of a set of men well 
known in the city, who spent their money freely 
at convivial meetings. These worthy citizens 
were past middle age and disposed to be very 
glum and ill-natured if their classic seances were 
disturbed or interrupted by Young America, 
either during their afternoon entertainment at 
Cato's or their soiree at Niblo's; so the young- 



^28 



LAST DAYS OF 



sters were apt to give the latter place a wide 
berth, and left the distinguished guardians of 
Cape Fear, Cape Lookout, and other prominent 
corners of the promenade in undisputed pos- 
session of the field, where under the leadership 
of the renowned Cedar Street ship merchants, 
the worthy fathers spun their yarns into the 
"wee sma' hours," washing them down with fre- 
quent copious Hbations, in memoriam of their 
struggles in the battle of life. This set of ancient 
revellers gave to Niblo's bar-room a widespread 
notoriety, and it soon became a source of con- 
siderable income to its accommodating, genial 
proprietor. 

To the garden proper there was a separate 
entrance from Broadway for the accommodation 
of such visitors whose tastes inclined them to 
seek umbrageous bowers for the full enjoyment 
of ice cream, cooling port wine negus or refresh- 
ing lemonade. This department was under the 
immediate supervision of Mrs. Niblo, who, what- 
ever may be averred to the contrary, was the 
ruling sx3irit of this enterprise, for she secured 
the " income " and watched the " out-go " with 
such rare business ability that the place acquired 
a name and fame enduricg still, not blotted out 
by the march of modern improvement. 

The walks were trimly kept, the beds filled 
with a choice variety of shrubs and flowers; 
cages with singing birds were suspended here 
and there among the branches; settees with little 
tables were ranged beneath the trees or placed 
in tasteful viue-clad summer houses, and in the 
evening this Now York paradise was illuminated 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 229 

by the agency of numberless lanterns of parti- 
colored glass of the glow-worm type, whose 
effulgence possessed the merit of not being try- 
ing to the complexion and did away with the 
necessity of lily white and rouge, so essential to 
effect in the strong glare of blazing gaslight. 
Everything about the Garden evidenced careful 
supervision : order and neatness lent a charm to 
the inexpensive appointments. 

In the centre of the plot Niblo caused to be 
erected an open saloon, which was devoted to 
such light entertainment as is afforded by instru- 
mental and vocal music, vaudeville or " piquante " 
farce, with rollicking John Sefton in the cast. As 
after a brief space it became eminently proper for 
the fair sex, under the protection of a well as- 
sured escort, to visit Niblo's Saloon, the proprie- 
tor was compelled to enlarge his accommodations 
in the dramatic line. By degrees the Saloon 
grew to the proportions of a real theatre, and the 
latter swept away garden, walk, shrub, tree and 
bower, and though the name of Garden was re- 
tained, scarcely a vestige of a green plant was 
left as a witness of the original plan. Even Mrs. 
Niblo removed her headquartei-s, and nightly 
supervised the unromantic details of the ticket 
office, that she might, with more certainty, gather 
the increasing influx of dollars, and by her pres- 
ence dam the many infinitesmal outlets through 
which shiUings and sixpences are said to unac- 
countably flow and be forever lost to the trusting 
manager. 

The great ilavel family of gymnasts, dancers 
and contortionists wa»» the first grand card Niblo 



^30 LAS 2' DAYS OF 

secured, with the lithe, graceful Gabriel as leader 
in their marvellous feats of pantomime, and for 
many consecutive seasons crowded houses greeted 
their nightly re-entree. As time rolled on the beau- 
tiful dramatic temple on the rear of the old gar- 
den was built, when Billy Niblo, abundantly 
blessed with stacks of dollars, in modern estima- 
tion, " Heaven's best gift to man," retired to enjoy 
the fruits of his long services to a generous and 
appreciative public. 

The Lafayette and Eichmond Hill Theatres 
were incipient abortions, and would not be con- 
sidered worthy of remembrance were it not that 
by chance each was associated with the recollec- 
tion of marked men who have figured in the city. 
The first named was located on Laurens Street, 
just north of Canal, which, at the period (1828), 
must have been a most unpromising tract ; for 
the neighborhood was sparsely settled, and the 
few inhabitants little likely to be tempted by the 
allurements of the stage. During its brief exist- 
ance, however, this temple of the muses was imder 
the management of no less a man than Charles 
"W. Sandford, for years one of the legal lights of 
the New York bar, but far more widely known as 
the Major General commai^Jung the forces desig- 
nated as the Fii'st Division, New York State 
Mihtia. The presumption is, the young advocate 
and embryo military leader was considerably out 
of pocket by this siDeculation, for soon after it was 
opened to the jDublic the house was burned, and 
was never rebuilt. 

The Eichmond Hill, another short-lived, feeble 
attempt to estabhsh a place of amusement remote 



ICXICICERBOCKER LIFE. 231 

from the traveled highways, was on Charlton 
street near Varick, then one of the most quiet 
sections of the city, in fact beyond its actual limit. 
Its high-sounding name was derived from the 
site it occupied, and a portion of the altered 
building had formerly been the country residence 
of Aaron Burr, when that schemer was at the full 
of his political career, and who in his pride had 
so christened the slight elevation upon which it 
rested. From the start it proved a wretched un- 
dertaking; even the few dead-head ''claquers" of 
the time objected to travel so far from their ac- 
customed rounds, and as its associations were not 
worthy of notice by the respectable press, the 
date is not published when its green baize curtain 
was finally lowered. 

One other dingy mongrel place, where people 
were wont to congregate, is brought to mind by 
the recollection of " anniversary week;" a week 
unmistakably designated by the influx of a horde 
of cadaverous-looking outsiders that came " caw- 
ing" into town from far and from near, togged 
out in shiny black swallow-tails, and uniformed 
with blue cotton umbrellas, white cravats, black 
cotton gloves, and each pilgrim armed with a 
long, lank carpet bag, in which to transport all its 
owner could not possibly devour during the cru- 
sade. These hungry-looking worshippers of 
"isms" gave the hotels a vvide berth; they came 
to gorge not disgorge, they quartered upon the 
faithful of the city without even deigning to go 
through the formality of a simple "by your leave." 
During the six days of their pilgrimage at the 
shi'ine of Fanaticism the altar was erected at the 



^32 LAST DA YS OF 

Broadway Tabernacle, and the place rang wilh 
discordant yells at all hours, day and night, when 
the locusts were not employed in satisfying their 
inward cravings. 

This tabernacle was an unsightly pile which 
for many years disfigured Broadway, but it was a 
hall of considerable capacity, and its acoustic 
qualities said to be the very best in the city. It 
was originally designed for a free Congregational 
church, but for some time before its demohtion 
either it or its proprietors fell from grace and it 
became common stamping ground, on which all 
classes and conditions of men and women venti- 
lated their religious fanatical or political reveries. 
Wendell Phillips, W. Lloyd Garrison, Gerrett 
Smith, Arthur Tappan, Lucretia Mott and kin- 
dred spirits of the unadulterated abolition stripe, 
made the old walls ring again with their soul- 
stirring recitals of the wrongs to suffering Sambo, 
in the incipient stage of the emancipation cru- 
sade. 

Owing, however, to its accessibility it was fre- 
quently hired for concerts and musical entertain- 
ments by artists of great merit. Ole Bull and 
Vieuxtemps enlivened it with the "Carnival of 
Venice." Braham and DeBegnies made it ring 
again with their powerful voices; Charles E. Horn 
and Austin Phillips often carroUed there their 
sweetest notes, and even the mighty Barnum for 
a time entertained the idea of introducing his 
Swedish nightingale at the Tabernacle; but the 
shrewd calculator discovered at the last moment 
that far off Castle Garden, away down by the 
sounding sea, would hold one more on a pinch 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 233 

and thus warrant the sale of still another ticket 
at the famous auction. This auction plan was 
adopted by the great and good temperance ora- 
tor as the only method by which he could satisfy 
the public and at the same time save himself from 
the imputation of favoritism during the furore ex- 
cited by the appearance of Jenny Lind. That 
auction was a great success; the price paid by 
the hatter for his ticket, was a marvellous dodge 
in the advertising line; it was the highest flight 
of circus imagery. The Mermaid, Joyce Heth, 
the Wooly Horse, Tom Thumb, all paled before 
it. The Duke of Iranistan was by it raised to a 
bewildering elevation in the esteem of an appre- 
ciative constituency. 



CHAPTER FIFTEENTH. 

Three or four decades since, society did 
not as a rule keep its carriage, fashion did 
not exact it, neither was the then moderate 
expense necessary to respectabiUty ; so that 
one of the most notable changes which has taken 
place is in the number and luxmious costliness of 
the vehicles which now meet the eye. It is only 
a few years since that all the private carriages 
seen on Broadway or the Bloomingdale Road 
were as well known to any observant citizens as 
were the faces and names of the owners. The 
half-dozen negro coachmen in livery were marked 
objects for comment, and the solitary footman 
clad in green and gold lace, in the employ of a 
lady long noted for her eccentric display, sat in a 
dejected mood on the "dickey," as if ashamed of 
his toggery and menial vocation. There were 
two four-in-hand teams, one driven by Mr. John 
Hunter, of Hunter's Island, near New Rochelle, a 
gentleman of leisure and large wealth; the other, 
the property of Henry Marx, the noted exquisite 
of his day, who possessed sufficient independence 
of spirit to take one step ahead, to bid defiance to 
the sombre habiliments of the time, and who was 
almost taboed for his marked departure from es- 
tablished custom — the dashing, genial Harry 
Marx, who for many years had the exclusive title 
of "Dandy" prefixed to his name. But the spirit 



LAST DA VS OF KXICKERBOCK'ER LIFE. 235 

and unequalled style of his four "high-bred" 
chestnuts enabled him to bear with perfect non- 
chalance the sneers and jealousies that beset him 
on every side, and while he lived and flourished 
no man in Gotham enjoyed life with a finer zest 
than Dandy Marx. The ponderous Tilbury of a 
well-known importer who hailed from the Green 
Isle, and whose descendants are now prominent 
in society, was a great feature on the drive, his 
powerful seventeen- hand bay, glossy, proud, and 
as quick-stepping as a pony, was universally ad- 
mired when driven to the unwieldy two -wheeled 
drag. Many w^ill recall the high-perched seat of 
the dashing, briefless, but wealthy young lawyer 
who lived "away up town," at the Carlton House, 
on the corner of Broadway and Leonard street; 
the open barouche of the gay Cedar street silk 
merchant to be seen any fine afternoon, except 
Sunday, occupied by a select stag party en route 
for Burnham's and Cato's; the yellow coach with 
heavy hammer doth, in waiting for its lady owner 
who resided on the corner of Broadway and Tin- 
Pot Alley; the low, comfortable carriage, slowly 
drawn for years by a pair of fat, lazy, long-tailed 
bays, trained in the good old days when there was 
little to do and plenty of time in which to perform 
that little. This latter establishment formed a 
complete combination; the owner determined 
uj)on ease after a life of slow but sure usefulness; 
the staid old driver whose head seemed to nod in 
perfect accord with the measured tread of the 
well-fed quadrupeds; the low, swinging, roomy 
vehicle, wherein reclined a retired Scotch mer- 
chant, the picture of calm content and good will 



236 LAST DAYS OF 

toward all mankind, a spirit "which has descended 
to an onl}^ son, who still lives to bestow liberal 
yet unostentatious gifts to the friendless and 
stricken, from the abundant estate bequeathed 
to his stewardship. The well-known gig of the 
world-renowned surgeon, whose neat Quaker garb, 
highly-polished white top boots, low-crowned, 
broad-brimmed, well-brushed beaver were as fa- 
miliar to all classes as the commonest necessity 
of daily life; for all, rich and poor, young and old, 
felt respect and love for Valentine Mott. The 
neat equipage of the tall, courtly Mayor, Phihp 
Hone, standing in fi-ont of his residence on 
Broadway, opposite the Park, which in 1835 was 
swept away with others belonging to the Astors 
to give place to the then grand Astor House. 

A few more private carriages might be speci- 
fied, all as familiarly known to every urchin as 
was the most direct route to Stuart's candy store, 
located on the corner of Greenwich and Cham- 
bers streets, a pound of whose " broken mixed 
candy" was considered the acme of juvenile bliss. 

A carriage was not a necessity. The limits of 
the city proper were so circumscribed that ladies 
could visit and shop without fatigue, and the man 
who ventui'ed to drive to his store, counting-room 
or office, would have been pronounced a parvenu 
with scarcely a dissenting voice. There were 
Hackney Coaches; rickety, dilapidated concerns, 
whose very appearance indicated that they were 
employed only in cases of dire necessity. For- 
tunately, if only on the score of decency, these 
creaking vehicles were not an essential part of a 
funeral, as it was the decorous custom for moui-n- 



, KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 237 

ers and their friends to walk to the grave in 
solemn procession, headed by the dominie robed 
in full canonicals. 

Horses kept merely for pleasure, owned in the 
city, and driven to light wagons (?) — an.etherial 
Ford or Godwin, celebrated makers, would weigh 
three hundred pounds at least — were seldom seen 
on the lower portion of Broadway; the rough 
cobble-stone pavement was not benficial to light 
springs; but the more important objection lay 
in the fact that when a young man was seen dur- 
ing business hours, certain prominent citizens 
would place a black mark against his social credit, 
and sundry venerable dames would audibly pre- 
dict that the money which had been so carefully 
accumulated by the departed parent, would soon 
be squandered by reckless waste. These steady 
old gentlemen and precious old ladies rarely put 
in an appearance on the then famous Third 
Avenue and Cato Lane, and therefore knew noth- 
ing of the pranks of Young America and his 2.40 
trotter as he whizzed past Hazard's and the Red 
House, self-satisfied and proud as though he were 
pulling the reins over Dexter or Pocahontas on 
Harlem Lane and dusting the j'outhful commo- 
dore. There are doubtless some readers who can 
recall the time when Harlem, the present Twelfth 
Ward, now being so rapidly covered with dwell- 
ings and costly mansions was but an expanse of 
fields and sold as farming land by the acre. 
What is now Madison Square, surrounded by 
insurmountable brick walls which were the terror 
of the comparatively few juvenile offenders against 
the laws of the city. At this point cobble stones 



2 '58 1^4 Sr DA YS OF 

stopped and tbe road, or drive iu modern par- 
lance, began. Land speculators of tbe day looked 
upon the rural suburb lying beyond as "a far off 
country," too remote even to be available as city 
lots. The financial crash of 1837 darkened the 
hopes of man 3^ an aspiring genius; while the old 
fogy spirit, more rife then than now, oj^posed 
everything that bore the semblance of progress. 

At this period there were but few noticeable 
residences north of the city limits. Here and 
there a country seat on the Hudson or East River, 
the home of some sly Knickerbocker who buried 
a few dollars in a few acres of rocky land, whose 
descendants now roll in untold wealth from the 
timely venture of their far-seeing ancestors. 

Conspicuous among these domains was the 
mansion of Charles Henry Hall. His prominent 
estate was located at the upper end of the easterly 
side of the Island, and its northern boundary was 
washed by the Harlem River, then the resort of 
amateur fishermen, as it was celebrated for bass 
and its waters were undisturbed by steamboats 
and untainted by the refuse of factory or sewer. 
The natural beauties which distinguished the 
home of Mr. Hall were cultivated with a lavish 
hand; broad avenues lined with forest trees led 
to well arranged flower gardens, ornamented 
with artificial ponds and other tasty appliances 
which rendered the place one of the main at- 
tractions to visitors from abroad. Mr. Hall was 
one of the few northern gentlemen who was de- 
votedly interested in the noble horse; his stalls 
were filled with noted racers of the purest strain, 
and as a sequence he was courted by the promi- 



KXICKERBOCKEK LIFE. . 239 

nent spirits of the tnrf, who shared with the gen- 
erous proprietor his love for field sports unmixed 
with the Hippodrome trickery and modern swind- 
ling practices which, of late years, have brought 
disgrace upon the race-course both in this coui* 
try and in England. Could Charles Henry Hall, 
Col. Johnston of Virginia, Gibbons of New Jer- 
sey, W. J. Porter of the Spirit of the Times, with 
scores of other lovers of the horse who might be 
named, "revisit the pale glimpses of the moon," 
they would hail with delight the advent of Jerome 
Park, and bid the American Jockey Club god- 
speed in their endeavor to return the lost prestige 
of racing and redeem the turf from the filth 
which late years have strewn around that once 
dignified and manly sport. 

The old Hall mansion still stands, shorn of its 
broad acres and commanding attractions. Mod- 
ern improvement is fast sweeping away the land- 
marks of the past generation and will soon decree 
its utter annihilation, when it will be remembered 
only for a short time by the few survivors who in 
years gone by partook of the princely hospitality 
dispen5,ed within its walls while listening to the 
learned disquisitions of the assembled guests on 
the rival strains of blooded stock for the turf or 
road. 

In those days Third Avenue was the trotting 
road over which our sires exercised their favorite 
nags. Hostelries dotted the drive at convenient 
distances, at which man and beast could procure 
the needed refreshment, and they were furnished 
as now with broad piazzas from which horsemen 
could scan and discuss the merits of the fivers. 



240 LAST DAYS OF 

They had trotters in those days, and good ones^ 
too, — Dexter, Lady Thorn, Goldsmith Maid, 
American Girl, Mountain Boy, Butler, and a few 
more noted ones may have knocked some sec- 
onds from the 2:40 standard of speed, but Dutch- 
man, Confidence, Abdallah, Rifle, Ned FoiTest, 
Peggy Magee, Ice Pony, etc., yet hold a good po- 
sition on the records of fast time, while Dutch- 
man's three mile time is unexpuuged, and still 
challenges the efforts of Young America. 

In our mind's eye we can see those quadrupeds 
of the past champing the bit under Cato's shed, 
then one of the noted halting places of the jroad. 
This Cato was a famous man in his generation. 
A sable son of Africa he lived and died respected 
in a community far more aristocratic and exclu- 
sive than its more pretentious democratic succes- 
sors, yet it was unbiased by any tinge of modern 
abolition doctrine, a community which knew noth- 
ing of sensational issues. Cato was black, but 
long intimate contact with the gentlemen he 
served had imparted to his gentle, modest nature 
an unpretending dignity of manner, which won 
"^ the esteem of all who approached him and secured 
for his humble house of entertainment such a 
wide-spread reputation, that for years it was one 
of the prominent resorts of our citizens and at- 
tracted many of the prominent sight-seers who 
made pilgrimages to the Island of Manhattan. 

Cato's house was located on a side road, or lane, 
as it was called, leading from the Third Avenue 
nearly opposite the poiut where the old shot-tow- 
er still stands, and in close proximity to the sum- 
mer residence of the Beekman family, then a3 



KNICKERBOCKER LIEE. 241 

now large landed proprietors. The quaint old 
bar-room and diminutive sitting-room with their 
sanded lioors were scrupulously neat, the coarse 
whitewashed walls covered with odd engravings 
of the olden time, would prove rare curiosities to- 
day; but thf*y, with their proprietor, have long 
since passed away. Piles of brick and mortar 
now occupy the site where Cato daily disj)ensed 
creature comforts to the Hones, Carters, Beek- 
mans, Tallmadges, Janewaj^s, Van Cortlandts, etc., 
with their many friends. 

After buying our cigars — cigars; — the name re- 
calls the fact that Cato sold five cigars for one 
shilHng, — real cigars at that; no Dutch cabbage 
leaves with Connecticut wrappers, for when en- 
joyed they emitted an aroma which would shame 
articles now disposed of at twenty-five cents each 
by our leading Broadway shops. The reader will 
please bear in mind that a dollar had some weight 
in those primitive days, and that it was treated 
wiJ-h some considerable respect by the fortunate 
possessor, for it would buy three times the 
amount of food or pleasure that can now be pro- 
cured with its modern representative. Dollars, 
like our population, have increased in numbers; 
quantity not qualit}^ is now the rage, and the man 
who thirty j^ears since had an income of five 
thousand dollars, could eujo}' all the comforts 
now within the reach of the possessor of tw^enty. 
At that time man}^ of the extravagant luxuries of 
to-day were unknown, but a glass of Cato's bran- 
dy (price six and a quarter cents) cannot now be 
obtained on the road at any figure. Bourbon 
whisky perhaps has a tendency to develop more 



242 LAST DAYS OF 

speed, as a little of that delectable beverage ''goes 
a great way." So let's drop that question and 
swing up the Lane. 

Cato's Lane, long since closed, was one of the 
spurting spots on the drive. It was a semi- 
cn-cular road about three-quarters of a mile in 
length, leading from the Tnird Avenue and again 
meeting it at a point not far distant from the spot 
on which now stands the Third Avenue Eailroad 
Depot at Sixty-Fifth Street. No steel rail was 
then dreamt of on the avenue, neither was any 
needed for the traffic. The few scattered dwell- 
ers of Yorkville and Harlem were amply accom- 
modated by a line of stages, which passed at in- 
tervals of two or three hours, and in due course 
of time, for there was no hurry then, landed their 
human freight at Park Eow or Harlem Bridge 
as the case might be; where, after the driver had 
refreshed his inner man, and to the best of his 
ability divided the receipts of the trip between 
himself and the proprietors, leisurely started on 
the return journey. The appointments of this 
stage enterprise can be vividly recalled if one 
chances to meet one of the present High Bridge 
lines strugghng up Manhattan ville Hill. Omni- 
buses do wear out, that is conceded by all, but 
omnibus horses and omnibus drivers are by many 
believed to be immortal. The High Bridge line 
seems to vindicate this theory, for we imagine we 
can see hitched to these creaking drags the very 
same wheezing quadrupeds which struggled uj> 
the Yorkville hill, propelled by the identical ivhips 
who officiated more than thirty years ago. This 
may be mere sui-mise, but the resemblance to 



KXICKERBOCKER LIFE. 243 

both is SO striking as to give to tlie theory the 
ful] benefit of the doubt. But enough of this 
wool-gathering. 

"We left Cato's seated behind the trotter Ion. 
This Ion, named after a favorite character per- 
sonated by a favorite actress, Miss Ellen Tree, af- 
terward Mrs. Charles Kean, was a good specimen 
of the road horse of the time; he was a wiry 
little bay, of the half-broken, x^tilhng type, who 
could trot when they had a nmid to, but run away 
and break things whenever the opportunity of- 
fered. He had been trained, like the rest of his 
class, to walk when on the cobble-stone pave- 
ment, and while going at that gait he hung his 
head to a level with his knees and to all appear- 
ance w^s as gentle as a lamb, but the instant the 
pavement was passed the brute grabbed the bit, 
threw out his nose, stiffened his neck, elevated 
his six inch tail and started on his break-neck 
dash. In these raids he was usually accompanied 
by several of his stripe, — we say accompanied, for 
he was an independent hor i- he respected neith- 
er whoa nor hoa, and only ceased pulling and 
dragging when the shed was reached, when, 
throwing himself back into the breeching, he let 
go his hold and calmly turned to see if he had 
succeeded in dislocating the arms of his driver, 
or rather of the powerless automaton who was 
being propelled at the will and pleasure of the 
headstrong brute. Home trainers have materi- 
ally changed their views since then, and the the- 
ory that arms and reins were better than traces 
for the promotion of speed is happily exploded. 
The Hazard House, located on the crown of 



244 LAST DA YS OF 

Yorkville Hill at EigMy-second Street, was fa- 
mous in its daj' as being the resort of those who 
delighted in speed and loved to indulge in home 
talk Its extensive stables were filled with ani- 
mals awaiting purchasers, whose points and mer- 
its were intoned with a manner and in language 
so truthful, so confidential, such language as pro- 
fessional dealers alone are gifted with, that it 
must be heard to be appreciated, for if attempted 
by unprofessional pretenders, the charm is at 
once dispelled. The look, the shrug, the half- 
unconscious smoothing of a horse's coat, cannot 
be described; they sell the kicker, the cribber, 
the lame, the halt, the blind, and with the same 
unaltered, bland expression congratulate the 
1 ucky purchaser, — no, the real professional ^ealer 
does not sell, he merely "lets you have," for in 
his e^^es the noble houee is above price or barter. 
The true dealer's love for the horse is to all 
outward appeaiance so deeply seated that to part, 
with one, even at his own price, seems to wring 
the fibres of his tender heart This love cannot 
be hypocritical, it must be real; it belongs to this 
peculiar traffic, and in some special manner is 
communicated from horse to man ; it was appar- 
ent at the Hazard House when that famed host- 
elry was in its prime, it is equally apj^arent to-day 
after the lapse of years, — it must be real. Outside 
barbarians, with no sentiment in their nature, "no 
music in their souls," do, in their ignorance, rail 
at these exemplary members of society, call them 
liorse-thieves, and other equally harsh names. 
Such unbelievers should visit these gentle dealers 
at their stables, and while inspecting the stock, 



KXICKERBOCKER LIFE. 245 

listen to the soothing tones addressed to eao'i 
roadster led out for examination; and if still un- 
converted, take a short drive with the professional 
horse lover behind some favorite j)et, to part with 
which would be like severing the most tender tie, 
listen as he chants his praise, and if your heart 
be not hard as flint it will melt, and the dealer's 
magic suavity will convict you of unbelief, and 
force you to confess that you have heretofore 
wronged a model man. Come, Ion, now for an- 
other desperate pull; the last man at the Red 
House pays the shot. 

From Hazard's to the Red House tlie distance 
was about one mile, and as the Third Avenue at 
this point was all down grade, going north, it was 
a favorite spot for the display of sj)eed. Hgre on 
every pleasant afternoon the show of horseflesh 
was extensive and varied, and did not compare 
unfavorably with what is seen nowadays on the 
celebrated Harlem Lane. Rigged to Ford wa- 
gons, (Ford was the most noted maker of trotting 
vehicles of the time,) flyers, double and single, 
contended for the championship of the Tioad. In 
memor^^, on a given day we see George Janeway 
with Dutchman and mate; Dr. Valk, of Flushing, 
driving a black team of acknowledged speed ; 
Geo. W. Miller, of the New York Tattersalls, be- 
hind Peggy Magie and Ice Pony; William Jane- 
way guiding a pair of crojDped sorrels ; General 
Dunham with his powerful Moscow; William 
Cowan, of the Crosby Street Bazaar, urging Sally 
Miller; William T. Porter, "The Tall Son of York," 
shouting vigorously to Confidence in his endeavor 
to head Abdallah, the famous stallion, handled in 



246 LAST DAYS OF 

those days by Mr. Treadwell, a veteran with the 
ribbons, who in spurts showed a gait which made 
the old-fashioned queue, which the old gfntleman 
persistently wore until his death, stand out 
straight behind; while in the crowd were Pel- 
ham, Honest John, Cayuga Maid, Lady Bemis, 
Tacony, Mac, and scores of other good ones, all 
striving for the lead at the Rad House Gate. It 
was on this sj^eeding ground that the world-re- 
nowned Flora Temple made her first appearance. 
For a time this cross-grained, wiry, and occasion- 
ally sulky little bay mare was owned and driven 
by John C. Penin. She hfid been brought to 
New York to sell by a Washington Hollow dealer, 
who in his turn had selected her from a drove at 
the low figure of eighty dollars. Though she 
had no known pedigree, her fine blood-like head, 
well-set neck, firm shoulders, straight back, 
powerful forearms and general display of muscle, 
attracted the attention of the shrewd horseman. 
After more than ordinary care and training at 
the hands of her owner, she gradually developed 
the qualities of a first-class trotter, — the crazy 
flights, half-racking, half- trot ting little bay mare 
settled down into a true stepper. She was at 
once put upon the track, and though successful 
in the main, her vv^onderful powers developed 
slowl}'. One of her subsequ^^nt drivers, James 
D. McMaun, has always claimed that he was cer- 
tain that some day she would prove a wonder. 
But Mr. Perrin and his friends little dreamed of 
Uie triumph she would achieve in her prime. 
She became the favorite wonder of the sporting 
world, — such a wonder, that owners of certain 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 247 

strains of blood and breeders of certain localities 
hotly contended for the credit which would at- 
tach to her birthplace. After many hotly con- 
tested races against the most noted flyers the 
country could produce, she had emblazoned on 
her stall, "Flora Temple, Queen of the Trotting 
Turf— 1.1^ 3-4" As but few competitors ven- 
tured to dispute her title, the wonderful animal 
was devoted by her owners to the somewhat 
doubtful performances at agricultural fairs ; and^ 
accompanied by the celebrated Ethan Allen and 
Princess, the tour of the United States was made. 
Everywhere, at fairs and on race tracks, the 
Queen was greeted with cheers. She still lives, 
crowned with years, though within a short time 
her brilliant record has been wiped out by Dex- 
ter, Goldsmith Maid and one or two more celeb- 
rities on the turf. 

About the same date another horse celebrity 
appeared, and attracted much attention both oa 
the road and track. A long-bodied, low-swing- 
ing grey mare was now and then driven over 
from Long Island, and challenged all for a friendly 
brush on the avenue. Lady Suffolk, the animal 
referred to, had made her debut on the Beacon 
Track, a race-course located a few miles back of 
Hoboken, and extensively patronized by the 
horsemen of New York. On her first appearance, 
both the man and her driver demonstrated, that 
neither were unsophisticated. She was entered 
in a green purse, and won so handily that some 
tall talking was indulged in by the owners and 
drivers of her discomfited competitors. Dave 
Bryant, the owner and driver of Lady Suffolk, 



248 LAST DAYS OF 

knew the wonderful powers of his mare, but he 
was penurious and egotistical in the extreme. He 
overworked and maltreated the noble creature 
while she, in spite of all drawbacks, developed 
speed and lasting qualities which for years were 
unequalled ; and there are not a few trainers of 
the present day who affirm that, had Suffolk been 
handled with the care now exercised, her per- 
formances would to-day have stood unrivalled on 
the trotting turf. Others might be noticed, but 
these bright hor&e stars will suffice to show that 
the tabooed Third Avenue was not destitute of at- 
tractions for the lover of the noble horse, and 
that the reader may be enabled to inspect at 
leisure and comment on them and their drivers 
let him lounge for an hour or so on the broad 
piazza of the Red House. 

The Red House was located on a plot of many 
acres, which was entered from Third Avenue by 
a road at about the point where One Hundred 
and Fifth Street is now cut through to the Har- 
lem River. The main building was originally the 
residence of William McGowan, whose descend- 
ants are still the possessors of an extended 
domain in the immediate vicinity. It was a 
roomy edifice, admirably adapted for a f)ublic 
road house, while the extensive grounds, upon 
which there was a well-kept, half-mile trotting 
course, offered extraordinary inducements to the 
drivers, and consequently made it a prominent 
resort. One of its earliest jDroprietors was Lewis 
Rogers. He was a dapper Jittle man, always 
dressed in the tip of fashion and as neat and 
trim in the appointments of his house, as in his 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 249 

personal attire. Fancy dogs, rare singing birds, 
choice plants were his special weakness, while the 
walls of his rooms were covered with the most 
tasteful engravings money could purchase. Like 
a wise publican, he spared neither time nor 
means in stocking both his cellar and larder with 
the choicest commodities in the market. In this 
last he was doubtless aided and encouraged by 
his father-in-law, for what old or middle-aged 
resident does not with pleasure recall the good 
cheer dispensed by Edmund Jones, first at the 
Second Ward Hotel, in Nassau Street between 
Fulton and John, and subsequently, until his 
death, at the celebrated Claremont, on the Bloom- 
ingdale Koad. After years of hfe and passing 
associations have almost imperceptibly crowded 
one and another from memory, the ideal of Lew 
Rogers remains as vivid as when daily seen and 
conversed with in youth. He w^as a " big " little 
man — not only a courteous host, but a host in 
himself. He was an accomplished horseman, 
thoroughly versed in the mysterious lingo of the 
craft, and always posted up in the secrets of the 
knowing ones. We youngsters listened to him as 
to an oracle, and received his opinions on such 
vital poi'nts as were mooted, without question or 
doubt. He was i^osted in the varied sporting in- 
telligence of the period, obtained by his winning 
manner to all grades who patronized his house — 
in fine, w^e looked upon him as a walking encyclo- 
paedia of horse racing, cock fighting, rat baiting, 
prize fighting, and the other innocent pastimes in 
which we clandestinely indulged, against the advice 
and consent of our respected sires and guardians. 



250 LAST DAYS OF 

The Bed House was just the spot to lounge 
away an hour ; it afforded ample scope for the 
study of character, as each class of citizens was 
sure to be represented. The Broadway exquisite 
was there in the person of "Dandy Marx." This 
conspicuous and eccentric young man was tall and 
slight, by no means ill favoed, and possessed far 
more brains than he " was credited with by the 
community at large. He dressed in the English 
neglige style, then considered ouire, but which at 
present would be far behind the mode, besides 
he wore a moustache, at the time looked upon as 
a foreign assumption — in fact he dressed and de- 
meaned himself in advance of his time. Born at 
the South, he usually spoke with the drawl of a 
genuine cockney, and assumed in public the stiff", 
reticent air of a London noh. His equipages were 
many and varied, copied from foreign models, 
and he dressed his servants in livery which was a 
marked peculiarity as compared with Knicker- 
bocker simplicit3\ He usually rode unaccompa- 
nied in his dra3% driving a splendid team, and 
not unfrequently sported a four-in-hand which 
he handled with consummate skill. Marx was 
truly a prominent character; he did not mingle in 
ladies' society, though his mother and sisters were 
always attired in the height of fashion, and were 
possessed of an ample fortune. There was a se- 
el iisiveness about the family circle which was ever 
unexplained. As a rule Marx was alone in his 
et rolls or drives, the exception being the presence 
of his sister, who was acknowledged to be a horse- 
woman of rare excellence. 

In the person of William Harrington we had 



KNICKERBOCKER TJFE. 251 

before us a representative man of a very difteient 
but numerous class. He was the famous leader 
of a type now rapidly becoming extinct, and 
which in his and their time were styled Bowery 
Boys. These Boys were, to say the least, peculiar, 
in their habits, demeanor and conversation ; but 
they must not on that score be confounded or 
identified with the rough outlaws of to-day who pre- 
tend to legitimate succession; for even though the 
latter spring from the same source, it is not true. 
The B'hoy of thirty years since did not associate 
with imported criminals; there was a pride in his 
peculiar swagger which his modern imitators 
vainly attempt. The Bowery Boy of old did not 
live upon j^lunder or his wits, he was early ap- 
prenticed to some trade ; to be a "boss butcher" 
was the acme of his ambition. His week days 
were spent in performing the labor of his peculiar 
calling, which was only suspended for the time 
when the alarm of fire impelled him to drop his 
implements of trade and rush to meet his engine 
on her^ headlong way to aid in extinguishing a 
conflagration. On Sunday or special holidays 
the B'hoy appeared a different man. His sleek 
beaver, his well-greased locks carefully rolled over 
each cheek, while at the back of his round head 
the hair was clipped as short as scissors could 
cut ; closely-shaven face, for he affected to despise 
the effeminacy of a beard ; black pants fitting 
tightly to the knee, from which point they gradu- 
ally increased in width until when the foot was 
reached it was almost hidden by the expanse of 
broad-cloth ; tight-fitting black frock coat with 
skirts of formidable length, a gaily-flowered silk 



252 LAST DAYS OF 

waistcoat with ample «liirt collar of spotless white 
about completed his gala attire. "When thus ar- 
rayed it was a treat indeed to see him sauntering 
along, accompanied by his fancifully bedecked 
gal, and his favorite bull terrier, the lord of the 
Bowery. Of this class William Harrington was 
an acknowledged leader. He was a man of large 
frame and wonderful strength. For years he fig- 
ured in the "roped arena," and not a few power- 
ful opponents were compelled to own him mas- 
ter. Boss HarriDgton, as he was familiarly 
styled, was an actor in all the excitements of his 
time, whether at the polls during election, for he 
was an uncompromising Whig ; or on the race- 
course when Boston and Fashion were strainiug 
every muscle for victory, he was prominent in the 
foreground, a protector to the weak and timid, a 
terror to sneak-thieves and ruffians. A butcher 
by trade, he amassed an ample competency which 
in after-life he scattered in companionship with 
his admirers with a too lavish hand, and ended 
his career of excitement and s^^ort by passing 
away when full of j'ears, either by suicide as some 
aver, or by the hand of some cowardly assassin. 
Another genua homo was always to be met with at 
the Bed House, and a brief description of one or 
two of the most marked specimens will suffice to 
convey a correct idea of the fraternity. Sam 
Segue was a well-known horse dealer ; his home, 
if memory correctly serves, was at Albany, but 
New York was the usual field he preferred for the 
display of his equine blandishments. The stock 
he dealt in was, as a rule, first class, and in most 
instances he confined his attention to carriage 



KNICKERBOCKER LIEE. 233 

teams. Style, not speed, was bis forte. Sam was 
a rubicund man, with a well-cultivated bland 
expression of the eye, and so far as the public 
knew, a model of amiabihty. His anxiety seemed 
to lay m what exact proportion he should divide 
his superabundant love between horse and cus- 
tomer. The "pictures" he had to dispose of were 
his special care ; they were groomed to a nicety 
and each particular hair in mane or tail so ar- 
ranged as to do its whole duty. He carefully 
studied all the minute appointments of his turn- 
out, and m trim neatness he was far ahead of his 
few competitors in the market. Broadway in the 
morning and the road in the afternoon were his 
parade grounds, where, with a single eye to busi- 
iiess.he carelessly nodded to some passing ac- 
quaintance, though he never forgot the main issue 
m bringing prominently to viewthe telling points 
of the "star-gazers" he was then guiding with a 
master hand. Ever on the alert to checS on the 
instant any impropriety the unruly beasts might 
atternpt and at the same time assume an easy 
conhdent manner which would convince all 
passers-by of the perfect training and docility of 
h s earn. WeUoUed. weU peppered, well checLd 
up, they were no slouches, and to use one of 
Sams well remembered favorite expressions, 
they were no mud-turtles, but fixed their gaze 
on the attic windows as they trotted past." 
Sam was a sharp dealer in a trade " when Greek 
me Greet," and had the credit of being seldom 
over-reached. As a talker he was awarded the 
first premium at Tattersalls, then prominently lo- 
cated on Broadway, between Grand and Howard. 



254 LAST DAYS OF 

and whether he is still chanting equine praises, 
or has abandoned his original field of useful- 
ness, the writer is ignorant ; certain it is that for 
long years his genial face has been missed, and 
no one of the x^resent generation of professional 
horsemen resembles in the faintest degree the 
remembrance of Sam Segue, the king of jockeys. 
Eowan was a confrere and cotemporary with 
Segue. Though he was actively engaged in the 
same delectable calling, the men were perfect an- 
tipodes of each other. Rowan was called Mr. 
Rowan. If he possessed any Christian name it 
was never mentioned outside of the sacred pre- 
cinct of his domestic circle, for there was a some- 
thing in his appearance which acted as a bar to 
the slightest approach to familiarity. In dress 
and address he assumed the clerical style. A 
suit of sombre black, generally well glazed with 
continuous wear, constituted his outside gear, and 
he invariably donned a white cravat to make the 
imitation more perfect. His manner was in keei> 
ing with his apparel ; cold, smileless, reticent, 
he rehed upon his peculiar make-up to proclaim 
his pretensions to extra honesty. Could such a 
saintly being conceal a fault or hide a blemish ? 
Irresponsible stable boys, doubtless actuated by 
malice, did venture to assert that this pattern man 
at times employed his tongue in the use of other 
words than those especially adapted for prayers, 
and that he would furiously belabor some poor 
beast which had unwittingly ^vinced or wheezed, 
and by such unseemly conduct had broken up a 
prosperous trade, but in public he was never seen 
to maltreat a horse or heard to utter an oath dur- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 255 

ingthe long years of his industry, which was 
proverbial and knew no bounds. Six days of the 
week he devoted to the buying, selling and trad- 
ing of cripi^les of every grade, and on the seventh 
day arrayed in a fresh white cravat and a more 
presentable suit of sable, he dedicated himself to 
exhorting sinners to repentance at a Methodist 
church where he figured as a prominent pillar 
and a shining light. With such an example on 
record who wiU dare assert that passionate love 
for the horse is incompatible with the exercise of 
high moral quahties in man. Many, doubtless, 
who still linger in Gotham can readily recall the 
man described. They will bear witness that if 
Rowan was tricky he never betrayed any outward 
evidence of success, and that the pocket in which 
he carried his money, if he ever possessed any of 
the filthy lucre, was always under strong lock and 
key; his charities must have been unostentatious, 
if charity was one of the attributes of his human- 
ity. A character, he existed long in oui- midst. 
The above will suffice as the extremes of a class 
far less numerous then than now ; the trade has 
changed with the increased demand. Railroad 
and omnibus companies requke vast numbers of 
horses then rarely dealt in, and the men now 
pr eminent at Bull's Head should more properly 
be styled contractors, for the wholesale traffic 
has divested them of the pecuharities of the old- 
time jockey, whose sympathies were engrossed 
in one quadruped, or at most a pair, and on it or 
them he lavished the concentrated enthusiasm 
incident to hib pecuhar calling. 

Passing to another and very different type of 



256 LAST DAYS OF 

Tisitors who frequented tlie Red House, a man is 
recalled who for the quarter of a century stood 
prominent and alone in his adopted vocation. 
William T. Porter, the founder and editor of 
The Spirit of the Times, a journal which was for 
years the acknowledged organ of the sports of 
turf and field. "The tall Son of York," as he was 
familiarly styled by his many friends throughout 
the length and breadth of the land, combined in 
his person all the requisite qualities to ensure 
success. His presence was comanding, of extraor- 
dinary height, with perfect proportion of limb; a 
finely formed head, and a countenance which 
gave unmistakable assurance of intellect, culture 
and refinement of the highest order. Endowed 
by nature with warm and tender sympathies, he 
drew around him by his peculiar magnetism the 
most accomplished writers of the day, among 
whom the late William Henry Herbert figured 
conspicuously, and whose works on the horse are 
still the standard text books of the breeders of 
America. Manly, invigorating sport was the 
topic of the Spirit, and it pervaded Porter's sanc- 
tum in Barclay Street. Blooded stock was his 
darling hobby, and woe betide the luckless wight 
who could not produce a clear and well authen- 
ticated pedigree for his entry. By untiring in- 
dustry and clear application Porter's mind be- 
came a storehouse of equine lore; he became the 
umpire in all disputed points, and his marvelous 
memory was the wonder of turfmen north, south, 
east and west. Every true sportsman became 
his ally and contributed to the success of his 
paper; so for a time he was on the high road to 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. X^oT 

fame and fortune. Lavislily liberal, liis purse 
was always open to succor the needy, and as a 
consequence scores of idle, worthless toadies be- 
came the recipients of his generous but indis- 
crinainate bounty. Such was Porter in his early 
prime. Courted, caressed, flattered, his walk 
among kindred spirits was always an ovation. 
Guileless as a little child he bestowed no thought 
on the morrow; full of animal life, with good will 
toward all, his leisure moments were devoted to 
pleasure and the companionship of wits who min- 
istered to his weaknesses, and he enjoyed the pass- 
ing hour to the "top of his bent." Neglecting his 
golden opportunity to amass riches, the world 
in its ceaseless roll passed him by with the refuse 
•of the age, and he woke as from a dream to find 
himself broken, friendless and alone. He had fol- 
lowed his much-loved brothers, OJcott, George 
and Frank, all known men of rare taient, to tiieir 
last resting place, and the flatterers who had 
basked in the noontide of his prosperity deserted 
him as the evening shadows of poverty drew nigh. 
To the disaj)pointed, broken-hearted man no so- 
lace presented itself save the draught which 
blunts the recollection of ingratitude and soothes 
the pangs engendered by wasted opportunities. 
To that fatal draught he fled and clung to it un- 
til with shattered mind and wasted frame he was 
mercifully called to his long liome. 

For j)rofessional drivers and trainers the Eed 
House was a favorite rendezvous. To them the 
race track was the main attraction, for rarely a 
day passed when their services were not required 
for some impromptu match. Charley Brooks, 



258 LAST DA YS OF 

Jake Somenidyke, Isaac Woodruff, George Spicer, 
Clark Vandewater, James D. McMann, etc., were 
usually on hand, while occasionally Hiram "Wood- 
ruff, William Wheeler, and Sim Hoagland would 
put in an appearance and give us outsiders a 
sight at some noted flyers who could " knock 
spots" out of three minutes. Americus, Trustee 
(trotted twenty miles within the hour), Ned For- 
rest, Yankee Doodle, Confidence, Eattler, Whale- 
bone, Pelham, with lots of private nags, whose 
names are now forgotten because their deeds 
were unsung, would frequently give us a touch 
of their quality which would end with the usual 
amount of "horse talk," and "drinks all round" at 
the expense of the unfortunate owner of the ani- 
mal which lor that special day chanced to be "out 
of fix." What "out of fix" rightly means no one 
ever rightly understands, but it is always as-signed 
as the reason for every defeat ever met with on 
the turf. Horsemen never have and never will 
cry "beaten ;" their motto is "try, try again," and 
in that spirit Ues the hfe of sport. 

Many are the amusing anecdotes recalled by 
the associations connected with the Eed House, 
but unfortunately some of the prominent actors 
are still around, and lively at that ; and these 
might possibly think the recital of their youthful 
frohcs and indiscretions would detract somewhat 
from theu' present dignified positions as respected 
grandsires, and members in high standing with 
our best metropohtan society. So we are com- 
pelled to desist as most of the incidents would be 
pointless if stripped of personality. 

But before bidding farewell to a spot fraught 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 259 

with so many pleasing reminiscences, we cannoi 
forbear recording a passing tribute to a man who 
was for j^ears its lessee, and during whose tenure 
the time-honored hostelry retained its prestige 
undimmed ; but on whose departure for more 
central and accessible quarters, it became in truth 
"a banquet hall deserted." Its course was run, 
and the old structure now untenanted shows no 
vestige of its former attractions to arrest the at- 
tention of the present generation. Ned Luff was 
for many yeai s one of the most obliging, gener- 
ous and popular hosts on the road. He was emi- 
nently a progressive man, and in that lay the 
prime secret of his success. He lived up to the 
requirements of the times, kept young, and so 
adapted his house and its surroundings to meet 
the special demands of each succeeding class of 
patrons. He argued tastes change, for he had 
seen over and over again one set of riders tire of 
the care and expense which invariably accompany 
the ownership of fast horses, sell out to another 
set anxious to try its luck in the mysteries and 
mazes of horsedom, the last soon disappearing 
from the drive, but being followed by another, 
surely " as the night the day." Many of these 
changes occurred during the term in which Luff 
dispensed creature comforts; but each new flock 
of pleasure-seekers seemed by intuition to find 
him out, and no old roadster would pass his door 
without making a desperate lunge for the shed. 
To all he was courteous and acceptable, ending 
his career a publican in the harness of his trade 
on Harlem Lane. Jolly, free-hearted, he had 
bosts of friends, and no enemy, save one, who 



200 LAST DAYS OF 

overruled bis better judgment and hurried him 
to an untimely grave. Poor Luff; the word 
" No " had not been taught him in youth ; he 
could not utter it even to King Alcohol. Good- 
bye to the Ked House, too many painful thoughts 
of passing away present themselves ; let us seek 
other sights which may be found at Bradshaw's, 
at Harlem. 

About one mile north of the Eed House, on a 
fine, level road over Harlem Flats, was situated 
Bradshaw's Hotel. The curious in such matters 
can at any time inspect all that remains of the 
once famous hostelry by halting for a moment on 
the corner of Third Avenue and One Hundred 
and Twenty -fifth Street. The room}', double 
frame building is still there, but the grade having 
been materially changed, the old piazza which in 
former daj^s afforded ample breathing and loung- 
ing room for the guests has been torn away, the 
former parlor converted into a drug store, the 
wide hall is used for the sale of segars, newsj^a- 
pers and soda water, by the famous ball player, 
Thompson, and the old bpr-room occupied as a 
bakery. " Here she goes and there she goes" — 
thousands will recall the threadbare anecdote of 
former times — seems to be written all over the 
venerable pile, and Thompson will point out to 
anyone the exact spot Avhere the old clock stood. 
That the visitors at Bradshaw's were many, it is 
only necessary to state that the extensive sheds 
on the north and west were insufficient to accom- 
modate the quadrupeds, and the additional one 
erected on the opposite side of the avenue was 
often crowded. Bradshaw's being but a few 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 2G1 

Lundred yards from Harlem Bridge was virtually 
the turning point of the drive, and consequently 
a long rest was taken by many who made it their 
oni3^ stopping place on the road. 

There were at that time moderate as well as 
fast men, and though both classes of riders pa- 
tronized this unexceptionable house we will more 
particularly notice some of those who did not ha- 
bitually pull up either at the Eed House or 
Hazard's. Besides this class of oui' own citizens 
there were quite a number of the residents of 
Westchester, Pelham, New Kochelle, etc., who 
were frequent visitors on the drive, that they 
might *'air a green colt," and take some of the 
conceit out of the Gothamites by giving the dust 
to some favorite roadster. Of New Yorkers 
who were habitues, we recall WilHam Vyse, a gen- 
tleman who for many seasons drove a bay horse, 
which for size, speed and action combined would 
challenge competition to-day among the thou- 
sands of splendid, high-bred animals to be seen 
in Central Park, horses which are the pride of 
the breeders of Orange County and Kentucky. 
He was as large and heavy-limbed as a truck 
horse, his coat was as silky as a thoroughbred, 
and at every point exhibited indisputable signs 
of blood. His action was high and nimble, and 
there were few animals on the road that could 
beat him to the pavements, rigged as he general- 
ly was to a heavy two-wheeled tilbury, and his 
owner, who was sociable in his disposition, was 
rarely unaccompanied by a boon companion. 

Next on the hst, and always a welcome arrival, 
was the genial George L. Pride, a great admirer 



262 LAST DA YS OF 

of fine horses. Gentleman George affected stvle 
rather than speed, and his turnout was alwa^-s 
in perfect keeping with the outward appearance 
of the man ; neat, trim, expensive, but never 
gaudy. Under all circumstances both driver and 
horse were invai'iably cool and self-possessed, ever 
ready for effect. No fatigue was ever indicated 
by either, and a most perfect understanding 
seemed to exist between master and servant as 
the stately grey ambled slowly up the road. 
George Pride was a singular compound ; a sort 
of providential blessing in his way, for he formed 
the exciting topic at many a tea party, which 
otherwise would have proved a silent, unseasoned 
meeting. In his day New York could produce 
but few young men, or middle-aged men, who 
were not actively engaged in business pursuits, 
consequently Broadway, from Canal Street to the 
Battery, (the only promenade), was given over 
almost entirely to the belles and their mammas for 
uninterrupted shopping, which was then a much 
more serious occupation than the gala pastime it 
now presents. But few male interlopers intruded 
upon the fair damsels to distract them daring the 
momentuous duty of selecting the same pattern 
of the same stuff which everybody else wore, but 
prominent among the few was Pride, who always 
sauntered along dressed in his most precise style. 
His manner toward the fair sex was invariably 
respectful and undemonstrative, at times even 
bashful as a timid girl ; still there was a certain 
something about the man which would attract the 
ladies, and render him always a choice morsel of 
gossip with spinsters and dames. Old men did 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 263 

not exactly know whence came tlie abundant 
means which enabled him to lead an apparently 
idle life ; the old maids looked doubtfully over 
their spectacles, while the young girls could not 
help casting sly, furtive glances at the good- 
looking mystery they almost invariably met in 
their morning strolls. Thus for many long years 
George lived and thrived, and was conspicuous 
until lost in the rapid growth of the city, which 
growth has proved a death-blow to all individu- 
aHty in our midst. Were he alive to-day he 
could pass unknown and unnoticed from Harlem 
Eiver to the Battery, save by the few who claimed 
kindred or courted some favor. Such the differ- 
ence between the Knickerbocker city and the 
metropolis of New York. 

Up drive a bevy of young men who were called 
gay in those days, who lived at a fashionable 
boarding-house, presided over by Miss Margaret 
Mann, a famous woman then, and she would be 
now in this bloomer age. Her house was a small 
hotel, and the stopping place -of noted travelers 
who visited the city. It was located at No. 61 
Broadway, just below and in close proximity to 
Wall Street. From its front windows could be daily 
seen fashion, beauty and wealth, wending their 
way to and from the shady walks of the Battery. 
In those days to hail from Miss Mann's was a sure 
passport, and the young men who could afford 
the luxury, (one dollar per day), were sure to be 
known to fame. Some of them kept theu- horses, 
and good ones at that, at Henry Walters' stable 
on Lumber Street. A most miserable shed it 
would appear if compared with the palatial equine 



2G4: LAST DA YS OF 

bazaars now so common in our midst. After the 
toil of the day was over they would spin up to 
Bradshaw's. Of these bloods, Ned Andareise, 
Frank Waldo, Wash McLean, — the Colonel still 
Jives a splendid monument of early piety and out- 
door exercise, — Dick Sheppard, Frank Stevenson, 
and one or two more who afterwards fell from 
grace, viz. ; became poor, were fair specimens of 
the respectable fashionable class. Precise in their 
dress and aj)pointments, they were careful not to 
violate openly any of the prescribed convention- 
alities of life. They were gay, not dissipated, 
for dissipation was ranked with low vulgarity, 
and was a certain bar to success. By the crowd 
on the road and by men who were their equals 
in everything but self-control, they were pro- 
nounced proud upstarts; yet, notwithstanding all 
this prudence, the love of the horse and of sport 
was in them, and before the magic theme of horse 
talk they threw aside all conventional reserve and 
listened with eagerness to the orator of the day. 
A frequent horse orator at Bradshaw's, was a 
well-known Westchester man, who would have 
proved a rare subject for the pen of Boz, as in 
richness of surroundings he far surpassed the 
obese parent of Mr. Samuel Weller. Gilley 
Browne cannot be ^t\y described. Were he still 
in the land of the living, the presidency of the fat 
men's association would be conceded to him be- 
yond a doubt He was a ponderous individual, 
and as jolly as he was weighty. Kich, far beyond 
his necessities, by inheritance, he naturally took 
to horses, and became in his own peculiar way a 
most inveterate trader in stock, and to Ihat he 



KXICKERBOCKER LIFE. , 205 

devoted the entire time he could spare from his 
prime duty to himself, viz., eating and drinking. 
That Gilley was sometimes "stuck" in a "swap" i» 
not singular ; but his uniform good nature when 
he ascertained the fact made him a perfect hero 
in our juvenile eyes. Beset by sharps on every 
side, he managed somehow to get rid of his hard 
bargains without omitting a meal or denying 
himself a single drink. Eumor had it that when 
he chanced upon "something very bad" he head- 
ed at once for New Eochelle, for the purpose of 
having a trade with a man who never failed him 
in his extremity; for Bill Shute could manage 
the sale of anything that stood on "all fours," and 
in case Gilley was successful, would kindly lend 
him a "kicker" to reach home. GUley's visits ta 
Shute were not unfrequent, and were looked upon 
as gala days by the bar-room loungers. Both 
men were sharp, treats were frequent, and old 
Falstaff whether ahead in pocket or "dead broke,'*^ 
always left for home in the " wee small hours" as 
happy as a lord. This was the Gilley Brown who 
was always honored by a large audience as he 
wheezingly discoursed on the superlative merits 
of some favorite roadster, which was invariably 
l^ronounced as entirely too valuable "to cart him 
around." Bruce Hunter, Tom Reynolds, Sam 
Cowdrey, Den McCreedy, and other Westchester 
riders always welcomed the fat man as a genuine 
companion on the road. We regret quitting 
Bradshaw's and its many past associations so ab- 
ruptly, but time warns us, so we will jog back to 
the city by the Bloomiugdale Road, bid adieu to 
Bpeed, horse talk and trotting dust, while taking 



2G6 LAST DAYS OF 

a retrospective glance at the more quiet resorts, 
frequented by those who did not consider the 
Third Avenue and its bustle quite comme ilfauL 

What is now One Hundred and Twenty-Fifth 
Street was the traveled road which crossed the 
northern end of the Island. It intersected the 
Bloomingdale Koad at the foot of the hill, 
where the suburb of ManhattanviUe, now grown 
to respectable dimensions, is located. Above 
this point of intersection there were but few resi- 
dences of any special pretensions, and not a single 
hotel until Kingsbridge was reached. The man- 
sion of Madame Jumel, famous as the widow of 
Aaron Burr, was perhaps the most extensive and 
imposing; the Bradhurst estate, on the corner of 
Breakneck Hill, now being leveled and "citified" 
by the serpentine St. Nicholas Avenue, w^hich has 
swallowed up Harlem Lane, name and all, was 
next in prominence, while the more unpretentious 
houses of Shepherd Knapp, Gideon Lee and 
Richard F. Carman are the only residences of any 
note recalled. Carmansville and the sumptuous 
homes of Washington Heights have sprung up 
like magic, and the coming generation will wit- 
ness improvements in that once rocky locality 
which will be unequalled in any city in the world. 
South of One Hundred and Twenty-Fifth Street 
the Bloomingdale Road was far more thickly set- 
tled. On the Hudson River, at this point, still 
stands a venerable pile, now and for many yeai's 
past known as Claremont This elegant structure 
was originally reared for a private residence. 
The spacious building bears witness to the en- 
larged ideas and ample means of the projector. 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 207 

while his taste in selection of locality is ampl}; 
testified by the grand view which is afforded from 
every point. Its rear overlooks the noble Hud- 
son, and the coup d'oeil on a clear day, reaches 
from the Highlands of Neversink to St. Anthony's 
Nose and the Palisades, its equal for extent and 
beauty rarely met with during extended travel. 
Thousands have enjoyed the enchanting scene 
since the house became a public resort, and was 
made famous as a house of entertainment many 
years since by the late Edmund Jones. 

This Bloomingdale Eoad has now virtually 
passed away. Seemingly only a short time since 
ifc was a country drive of unsurpassed beauty, 
"up hill and down dale," varied with many a 
curve, and at short intervals enlivened by an en- 
chanting view of the noble Hudson. Independent 
of its numerous public resorts, many unpretend- 
ing country seats were scattered along, whose oc- 
cupants, mostly of Knickerbocker origin, little 
dreamed in their quiet seclusion how soon their 
favorite landmarks and bowers were to be swept 
away by the gi'eed ol public improvement. The 
Abbey and Woodlawn, both situated south of 
Claremont, were largely patronized in their day. 
The latter, once the residence of Dr. Moftatt, the 
original "pill man" of America, was very popular 
under the management of Capt. W. L. Wiley, 
who is still a resident of the district, and a great 
political favorite in his immediate neighborhood. 
Next, jogging down a steep lane, we alight at a 
secluded little snuggery called Stryker's Bay, one 
of the most unpretending yet attractive houses 
on the drive. At that time its landlord wad a 



208 LAST DA YS OF 

Mr. Francis, who during his proprietorship per- 
fected his celebrated Ufe-hoat, which invention 
subsequently made him both famous and rich. 
The little house was in a nook sheltered from all 
points, save from the west, where the fine view of 
the Hudson amply repaid many a visitor. 

Adjoining Stryker's Bay on the south, and 
separated only by a minute inlet was the Summer 
retreat of Dr. Valentine Mott. It presented no 
special attractions of interest for the curious, but 
seemed to have been selected by its owner simply 
as a quiet resting place, where real relaxation 
from the toils and cares of an arduous profes- 
sional career could be had without restraint or 
the fear of interruption. 

In close proximity to the last mentioned place, 
and the point where Ninety-second Street, for- 
merly known as Jauncy Lane, intersects the 
Grand Boulevard, was located the elegant and 
expensive country seat of Colonel Thorne, one of 
the most dashing men of his generation. His 
fine physique and courtly bearing was proverbial. 
During many years of his fashionable career he 
resided permanently at Paris, and was one of the 
prominent notables of that gay metropolis during 
the reign of Louis Phillippe. In early life Col. 
Thorne married Miss Jauncy, a wealthy heiress, 
whose family ranked high among the Knicker- 
bockers. This pretentious home was situated in 
an enclosure of many acres, thickly studded with 
towering elms of great beauty. Many of the 
trees still stand ; the more elaborate, highly- 
furnished house is fast going to decay, and the 
name of Elm Pai'k, the scene of many costly and 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE. 209 

aristocratic entertainments, is now only associated 
with lager bier, target excursions and cheap 
summer balls. 

Burnham's Mansion House. Thousands of 
middle-aged men and women can to-day recall 
the many gambols they enjoyed in childhood on 
Burnham's lawn; they cannot fail remembering 
with vividness the smile of welcome they re- 
ceived from the kind old host and his motherly 
vvife, who were always at the door " to welcome 
the coming, speed the parting guest." Tha girls 
will not have forgotten the large square parlor 
where the cake and lemonade were dispensed after 
their hearty run to and from the summer house 
on the bank, or their protracted stroll through 
that old-fashioned garden, with its box borders 
and its profusion of gay native flowers. The 
boys never will forget, "while memory lasts," 
George, Jim and "William, three as devoted sons 
and delightful hosts as ever can be met; modest, 
spirited, well-trained American boys, who could 
gracefully acknowledge a kindness, and with true 
dignity resent an insult. Burnham's was fitly 
styled the family house of the drive. On each 
fine Summer afternoon the spacious grounds were 
filled with ladies and children, who sauntered at 
their leisure, having no fear of annoyance and 
confident of perfect immunity from insult. The 
honest, high-toned reputation of the host and his 
family acted as a most efficient police, and was 
indeed a terror to the evil disposed. The large 
family circle, save one daughter, have all paid 
the debt to nature. James C, " Jim," as he was 
familiarly and widely known, was the latest sur- 



270 LAST DA YS OF 

vivor. After an honorable career as commandant 
of the New York Volunteers in the Mexican War, 
he was taken off while yet a young man b/ dis- 
ease contracted in that arduous campaign, thus 
closing honorabl}^ the career of that much re- 
spected family. With the death of James the 
reputation of the old stopping place vanished, 
and though for several subsequent years its doors 
remained open as if to invite the passers-by to 
enter, its prestige was gone, its glory had de- 
parted, and it became a thing of the past. 

One moment with Corporal Thompson and the 
drive on Manhattan Island is ended. Where the 
Fifth Avenue Hotel now stands, with its highly- 
wrought marble front and richly draped plate 
glass windows, was the site of a diminutive frame 
cottage, surrounded by what might be termed "a 
five acre lot," which was used, when used at all, 
for cattle exhibitions. This was the hostelry of 
Corporal Thompson, the last stopping place for 
codgers, old and young. Laverty, Winans, Niblo, 
the Costers, Hones, Whitneys, Schermerhorns, 
the genial Sol Kipp, Doctor Vache, Ogden Hoff- 
man^ Nat Blunt, and scores more of hon vivants, 
hail fellows well met, would here end their ride 
for the day by "smiling" with the worthy Corpo- 
ral, and wash down any of their former impro- 
prieties with a sip of his nti plus ultra, which was 
always kept in reserve for a special nightcap. 
There was a special magnetism about the snug 
little bar-room, always trim as a lady's boudoir, 
which induced the desire to tarry awhile, as if 
that visit were destined to be the last, so it fre- 
quently happened that a jolly party was com- 



KNICKERBOCKER LIEE. 2T1 

pelled to grope slowly homewards through the 
unlighted gloomy road which led to the city. 

Good-bye to the Bloomingdale Eoad ! Adieu 
to the once famous Third Avenue ! for both are 
gone forever. The former has been swallowed by 
the aristocratic conventional Boulevard, which is 
rapidly filling its valleys, levelling its hillocks and 
straightening its once graceful curves, while the 
latter long since succumbed to the grasping 
power of a railroad which has driven sport away 
to make room for traffic and gain. 

Any old resident who may by chance cast his 
eye over these cursory and imperfect recoUec- 
tions, will find ample food for reflection, by 
spending a quiet half hour at the Fifth Avenue 
entrance of the Central Park. Even that brief 
time will suffice to convince him that he is hut a 
pilgrim and a stranger in the city where he was 
born. No matter how well-known he may be in 
a circle which he considers extensive and per- 
hajos influential, he will discover that he is an 
atom of small import, unnoticed by the throng, 
occupying the costly equipages which enters the 
drive in one continuous trail. Any attempt, to 
scan in detail the imposing procession, he will 
soon find an impossibility. A general idea of 
lavish expenditure, of reckless dash will x^ossess 
his mind ; the longer his eye is fixed upon the 
richly caparisoned, prancing steeds, the endless 
variety of splendid carriages, the fanciful and at 
times grotesque costumes of the occupants, the 
greater will be his bewilderment. Queries will 
flash through his brain. Who are all these peo- 
ple ? Whence do they come ? What is the 



2 72 LAST DA \ ^S OF KXICKERBOCK^ER LIFE. 

source of tliis boundless wealth? The answer 
can only be had by retrospection and reflection. 
On looking back he will remember where he is 
standing, and will remember when he was born, 
a half century since, Park Place was well up toicn 
with only a scattering population beyond. 

He will then see wliat untold millions are now 
represented by the costly architectural piles which 
now stand between the Central Park and the rear of 
that old City Hall which was inexpensively fin- 
ished by our prudent forefathers, for the reason 
that it would never be seen; he will in his mind's 
eye glance over and calculate the value of the 
acres of warehouses lying between these points, 
filled to overflowing with the costliest fabrics that 
the looms of the civilized world can produce; he 
will note the number of spacious hotels, whose 
inmates alone would nearly equal the population 
of the city at the date of his nativity. Let him 
go farther and contrast the lightning speed of the 
locomotive with the old rumbling stage, the ocean 
steamer with the dull packet, the telegra^^h with 
the slow mail wagon. Let him recall the marvel- 
lous strides in the mechanical arts, and reahze 
that minutes now can accomplish that which con- 
sumed laborious hours when he was young. 
Such retrospection will enable any one who has 
slept in a humdrum existence, while the world 
moved on, to realize the source of the marvellous 
wealth which is so rapidly beautifying cosmopoli- 
tan New York, 



CONCLUSION. 

Knickerbocker life in New York is among the 
things that were. Suddenly accumulated wealth 
has swept away its commemorative monuments. 
Boulevards and avenues have swallowed its wind- 
ing streets ; the leveling spirit of progress has 
smoothed the hillocks that were hindrances to 
the speed of this flashing era. Imposing struc- 
tures of marble and granite have "in the twinkling 
of an eye" displaced modest piles of homely brick, 
and costly luxuries driven simple necessities to 
the wall. The comparison of the brilliant gas 
light to the glimmering taper fails to define the 
marvellous transition. 

From the cemetery of past recollections the 
old Knickerbocker home, like Banquo's ghost, 
seems "to burst its cerements." With mom-nful 
gaze, the well-remembered power of a recent past, 
grieves that it has so soon been forgotten, when 
but a few years since its title to respect was un- 
disputed; its mandates obeyed by old and young, 
rich and poor. In fancy the towering giant of 
the past stands erect as of yore, commanding in 
its authoiitative mien. Its unflinching eye, lighted 
up with the consciousness of assured rectitude, 
is rivited upon the gay, restless throng flitting 
from flower to flower with excited glee, chasing 
one after another the senseless frivolities with 
which Fashion has strewn the highways and by- 



2 74 LAST DAYS OF 

waj^s of modernized Gotham. Its lips appear to 
move, and a faint " Well ! well ! " falls upon the 
ear. This old-time cry was of great import to 
Knickerbocker youth; it was sure to be heard 
when some express "fireside" injunction \\bA been 
disregarded, or some act of wilful disobedience 
detected. Such of grandmother's children as 
may still be alive can attest the weighty signifi- 
cance that attached to the tiny monosyllable, for 
they cannot fail to recall her calm deliberation of 
utterance, the expression of hopeless doubt which 
at the time clouded her placid face, the searching 
glance peering above her spectacles, the slow 
swaying to and fro of her venerable form, stayed 
only when a deep-drawn sigh had brought relief 
to her wounded heart. The "Well! well!" was 
grandmother's text; the beginning, the ending of 
her lecture; it was typical of her despair. After 
it had been solemnly given out, the meeting be- 
tween judge and culprit was a silent protrac'ed 
session. Daring this trying ordeal the kind old 
lady was sustained by her undying faith in the 
efficacy of the Fifth Commandment, but as soon as 
the first evidence of penitential sorrow was mani- 
fested by the erring child, her bright, smiling for- 
giveness dried the tears of contrition, and prom- 
ises " rich and rare " were showered upon the 
broken spirit, — wounded only to bless. 

This "Well ! well !" of forty years ago is a most 
fitting lament as the fact stares us in the face that 
ruling Fashion has decreed "home, sweet home" 
shall be n > more. The mandate affects alike the 
arrogant denizen of the mansion and the humble 
inmate of the cabin. Palace, mansion,, residence. 



KNICKERBOCKER LIFE, 2T5 

tenement, become henceforth only conventional 
names by wliich man's places of shelter are 
known, and merely express degrees regulated by 
capital, but all despoded of their magnetic at- 
traction. 

Cold prose is utterly inadequate to convey the 
retined sentiment clustering about and around 
the Knickerbocker home. The much admired 
poet whose familiar strain commences with " The 
birds singing gaily that came at my call," is com- 
pelled to own the grand theme beyond his scope, 
and admit by comparison, "There is no place like 
home." But deeper than the most subtle vein of 
poetry can delve, far down in the hidden recesses 
of man's soul where its tendrils are imbedded, it 
is a felt but indescribable reality, — a living need. 
This Knickerbocker home was the theatre of wo- 
man's legitimate duties ; the stage upon which 
her accomplishments shone with most refulgent 
lustre; the realm of mother, sister, wife. It was 
the elysium of childhood; the cradle in which 
petty cares were rocked to sleep with soothing 
lullabies that never fade ; the play-ground where 
tottering steps were tenderly guarded by out- 
stretched arms. It was the nursery of mind, af- 
fection, character, the "Alma Mater" to which the 
weary, the weak, the dispirited fled for rest as to 
an enchanted shrine fanned by the soft wing of 
gentle Peace.' Its code was founded on love, 
based on family honor; it framed the laws to 
which society obsequiously bowed. 

[the end.] 



PUBLICATIONS OF GEORGE W. HARLAN. 

Works of Mary D, Brine, 
my boy and i; 

or, On the Road to Slumberland. 

Designed by Lotus C. Tiffany &^ Co., Associated Artists^ of New 

York; Engraved under the supervision of Geo. T. Andrew, 

Boston, Mass. ; Press-work by the University 

Press of Cambridge, Mass. 

'' It will be difficult to find in any collection of English poetry lines that 
are tenderer or more richly freighted with the spontaneous and untroubled 
gladness of -a mother's heart than those composing Mrs. Marv D. Brine's 
'My Boy and I; or, On the Road' to Slumberland.' The only extended 
poem on that theme that we can now recall, it has great merit, whether 
considered as the expression of mere human emotion or as the utterance 
of poetic feeling." — Harper'' s Magazme. 

" Lavish luxury of material and w( rkmanship." — The Nation. 

" This book will be accepted on both sides of the ocean as the most note- 
worthy piece of art in book-form that the year has produced. It is not 
often that a man like Tiffany designs a book, and we mistake the public 
mind if this work does not have a success as rare as its quality is."— 77/^ 
Liverpool {England) Mail. 

" A marvel of sumptuous art." — The Home Journal. 

PRICE S5. 



MADGE, THE VIOLET-GIRL, 

AND OTHER POEMS, 

Lnc hiding '' Somebody's Mother'' and ''The ILome Concert." 

"The home sentiment, delicately and purely expressed, has made her 
fugitive poems very popular. They belong to the school which Alice and 
Phcebe Gary adorned, and are found tucked away into the corners of work- 
baskets and slipped into pocketbocks, easing aj;id resting tired people with 
their rills of music. Daintily and exquisitely bound. No more charming 
gift can well be found for a birthdi./ or surprise to some dear one at 
home." — The Christian Intellige?icer {N. V.) 

"The volume is a sumptuous one, appealing, in all its details, to the 
cultivated, aesthetic, artistic class of buyers."— 77i(^ Everting Post (N. Y.) 

price: .^3. 



PUBLICATIONS OF GEORGE W. HARLAN. 



TUTTI-FRUTTI: 

A Book of Ghild-8ongs. 

BY 

LAURA LEDYARD and W. T. PETERS. 

Designed and Illustrated by Alfred Bj'ennan and D. Clinton Peters. 



"The same child-instinct which leads 'the little people of God' to 
recognize lovers of children at sight will attract them to a book like this, 
in which verses and pictures alike are clearly inspired by a love for children 
and a warm sympathy for them." — Boston Jotirnal. 

"A unique and attractive book. There is a study in each song and 
illustration, and the little student so fortunate as to have these lessons set 
for him or her will have pleasant and profitable instruction."— 77^^ Daily 
Journal {Syracuse , N. Y.) 

'•Quaint and happy child-songs."— i\>zy York Daily Tribune. 

"A dainty book. The verses are vastly above the average. With all 
their fun there is an underlying strain of pathos in many of them. The 
last two verses of ' Shopping '—which has a delightful illustration, by the 
bye— are worthy of Charles Kingsley. Mr. Clinton Peters' drawings are 
full of poetic feeling."— 77^^ Morjiing Post {London, England). 

"There are no books of the kind pubhshed at home to approach this 
artistic volume of child-songs from across the sea."— TVi^ Standard {Lon- 
don, Englafid). 

"A book of original child-songs, admirably calculated to please the 
fancy and find a resting-place in the minds of chMxQn.''— Harper's 
Magazine. 

" A handsome child's book. There is no end of philosophy in verses of 
a character older people can appreciate."— AVrt- York Daily Times. 

"A beautifully illustrated volume. The son-s are charming bits of 
verse, and far above the general run of poetry found in bocks of the kind." 
— Evening Transcript {Boston). 

PRICE ©1 50. 



PUBLICATIONS OF GEORGE W. HARLAN. 

COUNT SILVIUS. 

A ROMANCE. 

FROM THE GERMAN OP 

GEORG HORN. 

By MARY J. SAFFORD. 

'*A German novel of great excellence. A writer of less 
metaphysical fiction than Spielhagen, and associated in some 
sense with the happier school of Heyse, Horn has yet to be in- 
troduced to American readers of German literature. He has 
marked descriptive power, curious analysis of character, the 
humors of poor humanity, and the skill of a Wilkie Collins in 
handling and unravelling plot." — Richard Henry Stoddard, in 
N. Y. Evening Mail and Express. 



The Skeleton in the House. 

A NOVELETTE. 

FROM THE GERMAN OP 

FRIEDRICH SPIELHAGEN. 

By MARY J. SAFFORD. 

"A novelette with as much plot and movement as a piece for 
the theatre. Spielhagen at his best." — N. Y. Daily Times. 

" As good as a pla5^ Itis a piece of clever mystification, which 
introduces us to the household of one of the great northern mer- 
chant-princes." — The Nation. 

"The most original piece of comical extravagance that has 
appeared for a long time. The grim title is a piece of solemn 
mystification, and the reader is played with till at last he hardly 
knows whether he is reading farce or tragedy." — The Graphic, 
London. 

lE^nrxce, X32L 'E'Q^p^&iOj 25 Cen.-bs- 



PUBLICATIONS OF GEORGE W. HARLAN. 

THE HOME-STRETCH. 

A NOVEL OF SOUTHERN LIFE. 

By Miss M. A. COLLINS. 

"Abounds in clever sketches of character, white and col- 
ored." — Evening Mail and Express, X. Y. 

LORIMER^AND WIFE. 

By MARGARET LEE, 

Author of "Nellie, or Marriage," and " Dr. Wilmer's Love." 

"This story is well constructed, the incidents being so clev- 
erly interwoven that they seem to follow one another most natur- 
ally and in an unbroken chain, while the characters are well and 
distinctly yidividualized." — Boston Courier. 

"Bright, wholesome, and entertaining." — The Art Inter- 
change, N'. Y. 

IPnTxce, XXX 'E'Oti^&iCj 50 Cexxts- 

NO LAGGARDS WE. 

By ROSS RAYMOND. 

"A fascinating bit of summer reading." — Boston Times. 

"Will find many delighted readers." — Bosto7t Post. 

" Bright and amusing." — Cleveland Herald. 

"The style is good, the plan modern, the characters well 
drawn, the whole scheme of the stor}- pleasing." — Jno. IV. For- 
nefs Prog7'ess. 

"This story is peculiarly pleasing, and has a brilliant accom- 
paniment of dialogue, character-sketching, and graphic descrip- 
tion." — Conunercial List, Philadelphia. 

Clo-blx, Si ? IPa-Dpe^:', 50 Cexxts- 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 220 339 A * 




